Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.
Life is possible only by the deficiencies of our imagination and memory.
Espousing the melancholy of ancient symbols, I would have freed myself.
So long as man is protected by madness - he functions - and flourishes.
The fear of being deceived is the vulgar version of the quest for Truth.
Not one moment when I have not been conscious of being outside Paradise.