Nothing But Disaster Follows From Applause.

You've Always Lived A Life Of Pretense, Not A Real Life-- A Simulated Existence, Not A Genuine Existence. Everything About You, Everything You Are, Has Always Been Pretense, Never Genuine, Never Real.

We Must Allow Ourselves To Think, We Must Dare To Think, Even Though We Fail. It Is In The Nature Of Things That We Always Fail, Because We Suddenly Find It Impossible To Order Our Thoughts, Because The Process Of Thinking Requires Us To Consider Every Thought There Is, Every Possible Thought. Fundamentally We Have Always Failed, Like All The Others, Whoever They Were, Even The Greatest Minds. At Some Point, They Suddenly Failed And Their System Collapsed, As Is Proved By Their Writings, Which We Admire Because They Venture Farthest Into Failure. To Think Is To Fail, I Thought.

People Keep A Dog And Are Ruled By This Dog, And Even Schopenhauer Was Ruled In The End Not By His Head, But By His Dog. This Fact Is More Depressing Than Any Other.

Our Greatest Pleasure, Surely, Is In Fragments, Just As We Derive The Most Pleasure From Life If We Regard It As A Fragment, Whereas The Whole And The Complete And The Perfect Are Basically Abhorrent.

All Of Living Is Nothing But A Fervid Attempt To Move Closer Together.