When I Die, I Will Not See

He Who Does Not Fill His World With Phantoms Remains Alone.

Night Is A World Lit By Itself.

When The Superficial Wearies Me, It Wearies Me So Much That I Need An Abyss In Order To Rest.

He Who Tells The Truth Says Almost Nothing.

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