Isn't Joyful Or Painful This Pain In

I Never Cared About Whatever Tragic Event Happened In China. It's Faraway Decoration, Even If In Blood And Plague.

I Want To Be A Work Of Art, At Least In My Soul, Since I Can’t Be One In My Body.

I'm Astounded Whenever I Finish Something. Astounded And Distressed. My Perfectionist Instinct Should Inhibit Me From Finishing; It Should Inhibit Me From Even Beginning. But I Get Distracted And Start Doing Something. What I Achieve Is Not The Product Of An Act Of My Will But Of My Will's Surrender. I Begin Because I Don't Have The Strength To Think; I Finish Because I Don't Have The Courage To Quit. This Book Is My Cowardice.

There Is No Safe Standard To Tell Man From Animals.

Ah, It's My Longing For Whom I Might Have Been That Distracts And Torments Me!