Under Each Formula Lies A

True Contact Between Beings Is Established Only By Mute Presence, By Apparent Non-communication, By That Mysterious And Wordless Exchange Which Resembles Inward Prayer.

We Cannot Be Normal And Alive At The Same Time.

A Regret Understood By No One: The Regret To Be A Pessimist. It’s Not Easy To Be On The Wrong Foot With Life.

We Derive Our Vitality From Our Store Of Madness.

No One Can Do Without Some Semblance Of Immortality, And Even Less Will They Deny Themselves The Right To Seek It Out In The Form Of This Or That Reputation, Starting With The Literary... Since Death Has Come To Be Accepted By All As The Absolute End, Everyone Writes.