It Is Not A Woman

It Was Suicide. Others Killed Themselves With Poison Or With A Revolver. I Killed Myself With Minutes And Hours.

The Woman From The Depths Of Her Rags, A Waif, A Martyr — Smiled. She Must Have A Divine Heart To Be So Tired And Yet Smile.

We Are All, Always, The Desire Not To Die. This Desire Is As Immeasurable And Varied As Life's Complexity, But At Bottom This Is What It Is: To Continue To Be, To Be More And More, To Develop And To Endure. All The Force We Have, All Our Energy And Clearness Of Mind Serve To Intensify Themselves In One Way Or Another. We Intensify Ourselves With New Impressions, New Sensations, New Ideas. We Endeavour To Take What We Do Not Have And To Add It To Ourselves. Humanity Is The Desire For Novelty Founded Upon The Fear Of Death. That Is What It Is.

It Is Not A Woman I Want - It Is All Women.

Two Armies At Death-grips — That Is One Great Army Committing Suicide.