I love your silences, they are like mine.
The obstacle became his alibi for weakness.
The period without the diary remains an ordeal. Every evening I want my diary as one wants opium.
Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky
I only believe in fire. Life. Fire. Being myself on fire I set others on fire. Never death. Fire and life.
Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.