It Is Time For Dead Languages To

I Love The Love Of Those Who Are Far Enough Away, It Becomes Whatever I Wish To Believe It.

My Only Books Were Women's Looks.

There Are. Intangible Realities Which Float Near Us, Formless And Without Words; Realities Which No One Has Thought Out, And Which Are Excluded For Lack Of Interpreters.

Our Shadows Are Taller Than Ourselves.

The Past Is Such A Subtle Thing. [but] In The End, Nothing Else Exists, Everything Is Made Of The Past, Even The Future.