We All Are Born Mad. Some Remain

Reality, Whether Approached Imaginatively Or Empirically, Remains A Surface, Hermetic.

It Was Long Since I Had Longed For Anything And The Effect On Me Was Horrible.

The Whisky Bears A Grudge Against The Decanter.

It's A Lot To Ask Of One Creature, It's A Lot To Ask, That He Should First Behave As If He Were Not, Then As If He Were, Before Being Admitted To That Peace Where He Neither Is, Nor Is Not, And Where The Language Dies That Permits Of Such Expressions.

Every Word Is Like An Unnecessary Stain On Silence And Nothingness.