Going to pieces. To go to pieces so pointlessly and unnecessarily.
The true way goes over a line that, rather than spanning heights, is hardly above the ground. It appears more decidedly to make one trip than to be walked along.
You are so vulnerably haunting. Your eeriness is terrifyingly irresistible.
My 'fear' is my substance, and probably the best part of me.
If I shall exist eternally, how shall I exist tomorrow?
The existence of the writer is an argument against the existence of the soul, for the soul has obviously taken flight from the real ego, but not improved itself, only become a writer.