You can't live in this world but there's nowhere else to go.

Absolutely no way to escape enigmans.

We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel, and looked at each other for the last time.

How clear the realization one is going mad -- the mind has a silence, nothing happens in the physique, urine gathers in your loins, your ribs contract.

Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.

We were all delighted, we all realized we were leaving confusion and nonsense behind and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.

Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh saw in the night can never be seen again. Born writers of the future are amazed already at what they're seeing now, what we'll all see in time for the first time, and then see imitated many times by made writers.