We Do Not Remember Days,

Idleness Makes Hours Pass Slowly And Years Swiftly. Activity Makes The Hours Short And The Years Long.

Writing Is A Fine Thing, Because It Combines The Two Pleasures Of Talking To Yourself And Talking To A Crowd.

Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates And Always Will. All The Rest - Thought, Action - Is Just A Pastime, Mental Or Physical. What Counts Then, Is To Come To Grips With Reality. The Rest Can Go.

We Obtain Things When We No Longer Want Them.

Waiting Is Still An Occupation. It Is Having Nothing To Wait For That Is Terrible.