Art Consists In Making Others

To Think Is To Destroy. The Very Process Of Thought Indicates It For The Same Thought, As Thinking Is Decomposing.

My Dreams Are A Stupid Refuge, Like An Umbrella Against A Thunderbolt.

In The Very Corner Of My Soul There Is An Altar To A Different God.

I'd Woken Up Early, And I Took A Long Time Getting Ready To Exist.

In Order To Understand, I Destroyed Myself.