Who Am I? If This Once I

Keep Reminding Yourself That Literature Is One Of The Saddest Roads That Leads To Everything.

What One Hides Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Finds. And What One Hides From Oneself Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Allows Others To Find.

Trust In The Inexhaustible Character Of The Murmur.

The Mind Which Plunges Into Surrealism, Relives With Burning Excitement The Best Part Of Childhood.

The Important Thing Is That Man Is Lost In Time, In The Moment That Immediately Precedes Him - Which Only Attests, By Reflection, To The Fact That He Is Lost In The Moment That Follows