To Think Is To Destroy.

We Never Love Anyone. What We Love Is The Idea We Have Of Someone. It's Our Own Concept—our Own Selves—that We Love.

Life Hurls Us Like A Stone, And We Sail Through The Air Saying, "look At Me Move.

Nostalgia! I Feel It Even For Someone Who Meant Nothing To Me, Out Of Anxiety For The Flight Of Time And A Sickness Bred Of The Mystery Of Life. If One Of The Faces I Pass Daily On The Streets Disappears, I Feel Sad; Yet They Meant Nothing To Me, Other Than Being A Symbol Of All Life.

I Bear The Wounds Of All The Battles I Avoided.

I Asked For Very Little From Life, And Even This Little Was Denied Me.