Basis Of Society: Anonymous Sweat.

Each Time I Fail To Think About Death, I Have The Impression Of Cheating, Of Deceiving Someone In Me.

What I Know At Sixty, I Knew As Well At Twenty. Forty Years Of A Long, Superfluous, Labor Of Verification.

We Die In Proportion To The Words We Fling Around Us.

I Have Always Struggled, With The Sole Intention Of Ceasing To Struggle. Result: Zero.

Philosophers Write For Professors; Thinkers For Writers.