Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn
Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.