Tears do not burn except in solitude.

I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.

That history just unfolds, independently of a specified direction, of a goal, no one is willing to admit.

So long as man is protected by madness - he functions - and flourishes.

We die in proportion to the words we fling around us.

Each concession we make is accompanied by an inner diminution of which we are not immediately conscious.

How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.