All That Is Not Perfect Down To

Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted And Sterile Existence Are Cracking.

I Have Become A Different Person. I Don't Know Whether This Person Is Better, He Certainly Is Not Happier.

Even If People Censure Me, They Should Do So Hat In Hand.

I Don't Let Myself Get Carried Away By My Own Ideas; I Abandon 19 Out Of 20 Of Them Every Day.

The Call Of Love Sounds Very Hollow Among These Immobile Rocks.