I Entered Literary Life As A Meteor,

I Know Nothing More Enjoyable Than That Happy-go-lucky Wandering Life, In Which You Are Perfectly Free; Without Shackles Of Any Kind, Without Care, Without Preoccupation, Without Thought Even Of To-morrow. You Go In Any Direction You Please, Without Any Guide Save Your Fancy.

A Man Forced To Spend His Life Without Ever Having The Right, Without Ever Finding The Time, To Shut Himself Up All Alone, No Matter Where, To Think, To Reflect, To Work, To Dream? Ah! My Dear Boy, A Key, The Key Of A Door Which One Can Lock This Is Happiness, Mark You, The Only Happiness!

I Told Myself: 'i Am Surrounded By Unknown Things.' I Imagined Man Without Ears, Suspecting The Existence Of Sound As We Suspect So Many Hidden Mysteries, Man Noting Acoustic Phenomena Whose Nature And Provenance He Cannot Determine. And I Grew Afraid Of Everything Around Me – Afraid Of The Air, Afraid Of The Night. From The Moment We Can Know Almost Nothing, And From The Moment That Everything Is Limitless, What Remains? Does Emptiness Actually Not Exist? What Does Exist In This Apparent Emptiness?

I Love The Night Passionately... I Love It With All My Senses: I Love To See It, I Love To Breathe It In, I Love To Open My Ears To Its Silence, I Love My Whole Body To Be Caressed By Its Blackness.

Love Always Has Its Price, Come Whence It May.