In The Taxi I Let My Hand

Cruel Men Cry Easily At The Cinema.

The Sense Of Unhappiness Is So Much Easier To Convey Than That Of Happiness. In Misery We Seem Aware Of Our Own Existence, Even Though It May Be In The Form Of A Monstrous Egotism: This Pain Of Mine Is Individual, This Nerve That Winces Belongs To Me And To No Other. But Happiness Annihilates Us: We Lose Our Identity.

Self-expression Is A Hard And Selfish Thing. It Eats Everything, Even The Self. At The End You Find You Haven't Even Got A Self To Express.

Christmas It Seems To Me Is A Necessary Festival; We Require A Season When We Can Regret All The Flaws In Our Human Relationships: It Is The Feast Of Failure, Sad But Consoling.

So It Always Is: When You Escape To A Desert The Silence Shouts In Your Ear.