Have Pity, Lord, On Those Who Love

We Get Into The Habit Of Living Before Acquiring The Habit Of Thinking. In That Race Which Daily Hastens Us Towards Death, The Body Maintains Its Irreparable Lead.

There Is Nothing Abstract About Pain. It Is Specific, It Is Real, And, When It Is Intense, It Is World Destroying.

I Draw From The Absurd Three Consequences: My Revolt, My Liberty, My Passion.

The Real 19th Century Prophet Was Dostoevsky, Not Karl Marx.

On Good Days, If You Trust Life, Life Has To Answer You.