Glory - once achieved, what is it worth?

Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.

In a republic, that paradise of debility, the politician is a petty tyrant who obeys the laws.

No one can do without some semblance of immortality, and even less will they deny themselves the right to seek it out in the form of this or that reputation, starting with the literary... Since death has come to be accepted by all as the absolute end, everyone writes.

We understand God by everything in ourselves that is fragmentary, incomplete, and inopportune.

All that shimmers on the surface of the world, all that we call interesting, is the fruit of ignorance and inebriation.

Every word affords me pain. Yet how sweet it would be if I could hear what the flowers have to say about death!