The Real Malady Is Fear

I Found Myself In A Sea In Which The Waves Of Joy And Sorrow Were Clashing Against Each Other.

I Wake Up Early In The Morning And Walk For An Hour. If I Have Something To Write, I Prefer To Write In The Morning Until Midday, And In The Afternoon, I Eat.

I Was Suffering From A Peculiar And Persistent Sense That I Was Being Pursued, And Also The Conviction That Under The Political Order Of The Times, Our Lives Had No Meaning.

Fear Does Not Prevent Death. It Prevents Life.

If The Urge To Write Should Ever Leave Me, I Want That Day To Be My Last.