We Can Only Exist By

Our Greatest Pleasure, Surely, Is In Fragments, Just As We Derive The Most Pleasure From Life If We Regard It As A Fragment, Whereas The Whole And The Complete And The Perfect Are Basically Abhorrent.

Everyone, He Went On, Speaks A Language He Does Not Understand, But Which Now And Then Is Understood By Others. That Is Enough To Permit One To Exist And At Least To Be Misunderstood.

I Would Be The Unhappiest Person Imaginable, Confronted Daily With Disastrous Works Crying Out With Errors, Imprecision, Carelessness, Amateurishness. I Avoided This Punishment By Destroying Them, I Thought, And Suddenly I Took Great Pleasure In The Word Destroying.

The Study Of Sickness Is The Most Poetic Of The Sciences.

The Anger And The Brutality Against Everything Can Readily From One Hour To The Next Be Transformed Into Its Opposite.