Your Memory And Your Senses Will Be

But The Problem Is To Make The Soul Into A Monster

True Life Is Elsewhere

But, Truly, I Have Wept Too Much! The Dawns Are Heartbreaking. Every Moon Is Atrocious And Every Sun Bitter.

Once, If I Remember Well, My Life Was A Feast Where All Hearts Opened And All Wines Flowed.

The Wolf Howled Under The Leaves And Spit Out The Prettiest Feathers Of His Meal Of Fowl: Like Him I Consume Myself.