Everything Turns On Pain; The Rest Is

Never To Have Occasion To Take A Position, To Make Up One's Mind, Or To Define Oneself - There Is No Wish I Make More Often.

To Accomplish Nothing And Die Of The Strain

I Would Like To Explode, Flow, Crumble Into Dust, And My Disintegration Would Be My Masterpiece.

I Never Met One Interesting Mind That Was Not Richly Endowed With Inadmissible Deficiencies.

Consider Love: Is There A Nobler Outpouring, A Rapture Less Suspect? Its Shudders Rival Music, Compete With The Tears Of Solitude And Of Ecstasy: Sublime...but A Sublimity Inseperable From The Urinary Tract: Transports Bordering Upon Excretion, A Heaven Of The Glands, Sudden Sancitity Of The Orifices. It Takes No More Than A Moment Of Attention For This Intoxication, Shaken, To Cast You Back Into The Ordures Of Physiology Or A Moment Of Fatigue To Recognize That So Much Ardor Produces Only A Variety Of Mucous.