When The Poet Is In Love, He

All The Blogs, Facebook, Twitter Are Made By People Who Want To Show Their Own Private Affairs At The Price Of Making Fakes, To Try To Appear Such As They Are Not, To Construct Another Personality, Which Is A Veritable Loss Of Identity.

Living The Same Sorrows Three Times Was A Suffering, But It Was A Suffering To Relive Even The Same Joys. The Joy Of Life Is Born From Feeling, Whether It Be Joy Or Grief, Always Of Short Duration, And Woe To Those Who Know They Will Enjoy Eternal Bliss.

If Somebody Writes A Book And Doesn't Care For The Survival Of That Book, He's An Imbecile.

History Is A Blood-drenched Enigma And The World An Error.

What Is Life If Not The Shadow Of A Fleeting Dream?