Why, Flowers Are Violent, Cruel,

While I Was An Honorable Man In Her Eyes, She Did Not Love Me. But The Minute She Understood What I Was, When She Breathed The True And Foul Odor Of My Soul, Love Was Born In Her – For She Does Love Me! Well, Well! There Is Nothing Real, Then, Except Evil.

As Soon As I Find Myself In The Presence Of A Rich Man, I Cannot Help Looking Upon Him As An Exceptional And Beautiful Being, As A Sort Of Marvellous Divinity, And, In Spite Of Myself, Surmounting My Will And My Reason, I Feel Rising, From The Depths Of My Being, Toward This Rich Man, Who Is Very Often An Imbecile, And Sometimes A Murderer, Something Like An Incense Of Admiration. Is It Not Stupid? And Why? Why?

Nature’s Constantly Screaming With All Its Shapes And Scents: Love Each Other! Love Each Other! Do As The Flowers. There’s Only Love.

Solitude Does Not Consist In Living Alone; It Consists In Living With Others, With People Who Take No Interest In You.

You're Obliged To Pretend Respect For People And Institutions You Think Absurd. You Live Attached In A Cowardly Fashion To Moral And Social Conventions You Despise, Condemn, And Know Lack All Foundation.