Writers, You Know, Are The

Humankind Is Never What He Is But The Self He Seeks.

Social Criticism Begins With Grammar And The Re-establishing Of Meanings.

Beyond Happiness Or Unhappiness, Though It Is Both Things, Love Is Intensity; It Does Not Give Us Eternity But Life, That Second In Which The Doors Of Time And Space Open Just A Crack: Here Is There And Now Is Always.

The Whole Motley Confusion Of Acts, Omissions, Regrets And Hopes Which Is The Life Of Each One Of Us Finds In Death, Not Meaning Or Explanation, But An End.

We Are Condemned To Kill Time, Thus We Die Bit By Bit.