He who has made a thousand things and he who has made none, both feel the same desire: to make something.
Without this ridiculous vanity that takes the form of self-display, and is part of everything and everyone, we would see nothing, and nothing would exist.
You think you are killing me. I think you are committing suicide.
When I do not walk in the clouds I walk as though I were lost.
My truths do not last long in me. Not as long as those that are not mine.
I have come one step away from everything. And here I stay, far from everything, one step away.