The World Belongs To Who Doesn't Feel.

Yes, Talking To People Makes Me Sleepy.

I Pass Times, I Pass Silences, Formless Worlds Pass Me By.

To Kill Our Dream Life Would Be To Kill Ourselves, To Mutilate Our Soul. Dreaming Is The One Thing We Have That's Really Ours, Invulnerably And Inalterably Ours.

There's A Non-existent Peace In The Uncertain Quietness

There's Something Vile (and All The More Vile Because Ridiculous) In The Tendency Of Feeble Men To Make Universal Tragedies Out Of The Sad Comedies Of Their Private Woes.