It Is Therefore Senseless To

I Exist. It Is Soft, So Soft, So Slow. And Light: It Seems As Though It Suspends In The Air. It Moves.

My Pessimism Has Never Been Flabby.

L'homme Est Une Passion Inutile. Man Is A Useless Passion.

I Will Take It All: Tongs, Molten Lead, Prongs, Garrotes, All That Burns, All That Tears, I Want To Truly Suffer. Better One Hundred Bites, Better The Whip, Vitriol, Than This Suffering In The Head, This Ghost Of Suffering Which Grazes And Caresses And Never Hurts Enough.

There Is No Salvation Anywhere. The Idea Of Salvation Implies The Idea Of An Absolute.