The only thing you must never speak of is your happiness.
Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric.
We are all born; some remain so.
That passed the time. It would have passed in any case. Yes, but not so rapidly.
If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.