Man Is What He Wills Himself To

I Had Spent My Time Counterfeiting Eternity.

I Will Take It All: Tongs, Molten Lead, Prongs, Garrotes, All That Burns, All That Tears, I Want To Truly Suffer. Better One Hundred Bites, Better The Whip, Vitriol, Than This Suffering In The Head, This Ghost Of Suffering Which Grazes And Caresses And Never Hurts Enough.

I Found The Human Heart Empty And Insipid Everywhere Except In Books.

This Desire [to Write] Is Rather Strange All The Same And Is Not Without A Certain "cracked" Quality.

Time Is Too Large, It Can't Be Filled Up. Everything You Plunge Into It Is Stretched And Disintegrates.