Two In Distressmake Sorrow Less.

I Have Nothing But Wastes And Wilds Of Self-translation Before Me For Many Miserable Months To Come.

For In Me There Have Always Been Two Fools, Among Others, One Asking Nothing Better Than To Stay Where He Is And The Other Imagining That Life Might Be Slightly Less Horrible A Little Further On.

What Do I Know Of Man's Destiny? I Could Tell You More About Radishes.

My Mistakes Are My Life.

They Give Birth Astride Of A Grave, The Light Gleams An Instant, Then It's Night Once More.