The Second Half Of The

It Seems That The Analysis Of Character Is The Highest Human Entertainment. And Literature Does It, Unlike Gossip, Without Mentioning Names.

When A Day Passes, It Is No Longer There. What Remains Of It? Nothing More Than A Story. If Stories Weren't Told Or Books Weren't Written, Man Would Live Like The Beasts, Only For The Day.

The Soul Never Dies And The Body Is Never Really Alive.

No Doubt The World Is Entirely An Imaginary World, But It Is Only Once Removed From The True World.

In The Half Darkness I Winked To My Other Self, My Mad Dictator, And Congratulated Him On His Droll Victory. I Closed My Eyes And Felt The Warmth Flowing From Shosha's Head To My Face. What Did I Have To Lose? Nothing More Than What Everyone Loses Anyway.