In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.

The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.