Your Hand Is Cold, Mine Burns Like

On An Exceptionally Hot Evening Early In July A Young Man Came Out Of The Garret In Which He Lodged In S. Place And Walked Slowly, As Though In Hesitation, Towards K. Bridge.

To Go Wrong In One's Own Way Is Better Than To Go Right In Someone Else's.

I Tell You Solemnly, That I Have Many Times Tried To Become An Insect. But I Was Not Equal Even To That. I Swear, Gentlemen, That To Be Too Conscious Is An Illness — A Real Thorough-going Illness.

There Is Nothing Easier Than Lopping Off Heads And Nothing Harder Than Developing Ideas.

Can A Man Possessing Conciousness Ever Really Respect Himself?