All Of Living Is Nothing

Everyone Is A Virtuoso On His Own Instrument, But Together They Add Up To An Intolerable Cacophony.

You've Always Lived A Life Of Pretense, Not A Real Life-- A Simulated Existence, Not A Genuine Existence. Everything About You, Everything You Are, Has Always Been Pretense, Never Genuine, Never Real.

...we Ask: Why Suicide? We Search For Reasons, Causes, And So On.... We Follow The Course Of The Life He Has Now So Suddenly Terminated As Far Back As We Can. For Days We Are Preoccupied With The Question: Why Suicide? We Recollect Details. And Yet We Must Say That Everything In The Suicide's Life- For Now We Know That All His Life He Was A Suicide, Led A Suicide's Existence- Is Part Of The Cause, The Reason, For His Suicide.

Very Often We Write Down A Sentence Too Early, Then Another Too Late; What We Have To Do Is Write It Down At The Proper Time, Otherwise It's Lost.

The Art We Need Is The Art Of Bearing The Unbearable.