Rarely Do Outside Of School Remedies Work

Literature Is Without Proofs. By Which It Must Be Understood That It Cannot Prove, Not Only What It Says, But Even That It Is Worth The Trouble Of Saying It.

As A Jealous Man, I Suffer Four Times Over: Because I Am Jealous, Because I Blame Myself For Being So, Because I Fear That My Jealousy Will Wound The Other, Because I Allow Myself To Be Subject To A Banality: I Suffer From Being Excluded, From Being Aggressive, From Being Crazy, And From Being Common.

The Gesture Of The Amorous Embrace Seems To Fulfill, For A Time, The Subject's Dream Of Total Union With The Loved Being: The Longing For Consummation With The Other.

Someone Tells Me: This Kind Of Love Is Not Viable. But How Can You Evaluate Viability? Why Is The Viable A Good Thing? Why Is It Better To Last Than To Burn?

The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This: I Am The One Who Waits.