We Are Not Certain, We

What Must Be Remembered In Any Case Is That Secret Complicity That Joins The Logical And The Everyday To The Tragic.

The Byronic Hero, Incapable Of Love, Or Capable Only Of An Impossible Love, Suffers Endlessly. He Is Solitary, Languid, His Condition Exhausts Him. If He Wants To Feel Alive, It Must Be In The Terrible Exaltation Of A Brief And Destructive Action.

I Want To Know If I Can Live With What I Know, And Only Than.

I Was Absent At The Moment I Took Up The Most Space.

The Principles Which Men Give To Themselves End By Overwhelming Their Noblest Intentions.