Pain Is Truth; All Else Is Subject

If I, This Mortal Shell, Am Going To Die, Let Me At Least Live On Through My Creations.

Pain Is Truth; All Else Is Subject To Doubt.

I Am Corrupted To The Bone With The Beauty Of This Forsaken World.

It Is A World Of Words That Creates A World Of Things.

In Its Conception The Literature Prize Belongs To Days When A Writer Could Still Be Thought Of As, By Virtue Of His Or Her Occupation, A Sage, Someone With No Institutional Affiliations Who Could Offer An Authoritative Word On Our Times As Well As On Our Moral Life.