My youth is escaping without giving me anything it owes me.
It will be a beautiful family talk, mean and worried and full of sorrow and spite and excitement.
Ah, we have to be generous to be grateful ... One has oneself to be a giver.
When I die, people will say it is the best thing for me. It is because they know it is the worst. They want to avoid the feeling of pity. As though they were the people most concerned!
Truth is so impossible. Something has to be done for it.
I never know why self-sacrifice is noble. Why is it better to sacrifice oneself than someone else?