To choose ways of not acting was ever the concern and scruple of my life.
All beginnings are involuntary.
Everything stated or expressed by man is a note in the margin of a completely erased text. From what's in the note we can extract the gist of what must have been in the text, but there's always a doubt, and the possible meanings are many.
Look, there's no metaphysics on earth but chocolates.
Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me!
I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing.