In France one must adapt oneself to the fragrance of a urinal.
There is no real reality to a really imagined life any more.
A virgin a whole virgin is judged made and so between curves and outlines and real seasons and more out glasses and a perfectly unprecedented arrangement between old ladies and mild colds there is no satin wood shining.
Considering how dangerous everything is, nothing is really very frightening.
Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense.
But then of course a philosophy is not the same thing as a style.