We Are Born To Exist, Not To

The Fear Of Being Deceived Is The Vulgar Version Of The Quest For Truth.

What Necessity Impels A Writer Who Has Produced Fifty Books To Write Still One More? Why This Proliferation, This Fear Of Being Forgotten, This Debased Coquetry?

Old Age, After All, Is Merely The Punishment For Having Lived.

By What Aberration Has Suicide, The Only Truly Normal Action, Become The Attribute Of The Flawed?

We Die In Proportion To The Words We Fling Around Us.