One Day, I Shall Explode

Me And My Books In The Same Apartment, Like A Gherkin In Its Vinegar.

What Seems Beautiful To Me, What I Should Like To Write, Is A Book About Nothing, A Book Dependent On Nothing External, Which Would Be Held Together By The Strength Of Its Style, Just As The Earth, Suspended In The Void, Depends On Nothing External For Its Support.

Concern For Morality Makes Every Work Of The Imagination False And Stupid.

Speech Is A Rolling Press That Always Amplifies One's Emotions.

Happiness Is A Monstrosity! Punished Are Those Who Seek It.