One Cannot Choose What He Writes -

Buffoons, Buffoons! One Can Play Any Tune On Them!

We Ride Through Life On The Beast Within Us. Beat The Animal, But You Can't Make It Think.

Phantoms In General Are Nothing More Than Trifling Disorders Of The Spirit; Images We Cannot Contain Within The Bounds Of Sleep.

Our Spirits Have Their Own Private Way Of Understanding Each Other, Of Becoming Intimate, While Our External Persons Are Still Trapped In The Commerce Of Ordinary Words, In The Slavery Of Social Rules. Souls Have Their Own Needs And Their Own Ambitions, Which The Body Ignores When It Sees That It's Impossible To Satisfy Them Or Achieve Them.

Those Who Understood, In Fact, Say: 'i Mustn't Do This, I Mustn't Do That,' So As Not To Commit Some Stupidity Or Other! Splendid! But At A Certain Point We Realize That All Life Is Stupidity; So Tell Me Yourself What It Means Never To Have Done Anything Foolish. At The Very Least It Means You Have Never Lived.