When Everything Is Finished, The Mornings Are

I Believe That The Soul Consists Of Its Sufferings. For The Soul That Cures Its Own Sufferings Dies.

The Dream Which Is Not Fed With Dream Disappears.

Human Suffering, While It Is Asleep, Is Shapeless. If It Is Wakened It Takes The Form Of The Waker.

Whatever I Take, I Take Too Much Or Too Little; I Do Not Take The Exact Amount. The Exact Amount Is No Use To Me.

When I Believe In Nothing, I Do Not Want To Meet You When You Believe In Nothing.