The Study Of Sickness Is The Most

I Had To Spend My Entire Childhood In The Altensam Dungeon Like An Inmate Doing Time For No Comprehensible Reason, For A Crime He Can't Remember Committing, A Judicial Error Probably.

...we Ask: Why Suicide? We Search For Reasons, Causes, And So On.... We Follow The Course Of The Life He Has Now So Suddenly Terminated As Far Back As We Can. For Days We Are Preoccupied With The Question: Why Suicide? We Recollect Details. And Yet We Must Say That Everything In The Suicide's Life- For Now We Know That All His Life He Was A Suicide, Led A Suicide's Existence- Is Part Of The Cause, The Reason, For His Suicide.

We Publish Only To Satisfy Out Craving For Fame; There's No Other Motive Except The Even Baser One Of Making Money.

I Really Only Write About Inner Landscapes And Most People Don't See Them, Because They See Practically Nothing Within, Because They Think That Because It's Inside, It's Dark, And So They Don't See Anything. I Don't Think I've Ever Yet, In Any Of My Books, Described A Landscape. There's Really Nothing Of The Kind In Any Of Them. I Only Ever Write Concepts. And So I'm Always Referring To "mountains" Or "a City" Or "streets." But As To How They Look: I've Never Produced A Description Of A Landscape. That's Never Even Interested Me.

Nothing But Disaster Follows From Applause.