One Cannot Choose What He

The Man, The Writer, The Instrument Of The Creation Will Die, But His Creation Does Not Die.

Nature Uses Human Imagination To Lift Her Work Of Creation To Even Higher Levels.

Life Is A Very Sad Piece Of Buffoonery, Because We Have .. The Need To Fool Ourselves Continuously By The Spontaneous Creation Of A Reality .. Which, From Time To Time, Reveals Itself To Be Vain And Illusory.

Each Of Us, Face To Face With Other Men, Is Clothed With Some Sort Of Dignity, But We Know Only Too Well All The Unspeakable Things That Go On In The Heart.

We Think We Understand Each Other, But We Never Really Do.