It's Hard Luck Always Having To Be

A Sky As Pure As Water Bathed The Stars And Brought Them Out.

There Is No Hope Of Joy Except In Human Relations.

What Was My Body To Me? A Kind Of Flunkey In My Service. Let But My Anger Wax Hot, My Love Grow Exalted, My Hatred Collect In Me, And That Boasted Solidarity Between Me And My Body Was Gone.

Perfection Is Finally Attained Not When There Is No Longer Anything To Add, But When There Is No Longer Anything To Take Away, When A Body Has Been Stripped Down To Its Nakedness.

Language Is The Source Of Misunderstandings.