Basis of society: anonymous sweat.
By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.
Man must vanquish himself, must do himself violence, in order to perform the slightest action untainted by evil.
How good would it be if one could die by throwing oneself into an infinite void.
Torment, for some men, is a need, an appetite, and an accomplishment.
As the years pass, the number of those we can communicate with diminishes. When there is no longer anyone to talk to, at last we will be as we were before stooping to a name.