The More Absurd Life Is,

I Am. I Am, I Exist, I Think, Therefore I Am; I Am Because I Think, Why Do I Think? I Don't Want To Think Any More, I Am Because I Think That I Don't Want To Be, I Think That I . . . Because . . . Ugh!

You See, The Contemporary Writer Must Write Through His Intimations Of Unease, While Trying To Elucidate Them.

It Is Always More Valuable To Report The Truth.

We Will Not Go To Heaven,goetz, And Even If We Both Entered It, We Would Not Have Eyes To See Each Other, Nor Hands To Touch Each Other. Up There, God Gets All The Attention.... We Can Only Love On This Earth And Against God.

We Do Not Judge The People We Love.