That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.

My mistakes are my life.

Art has always been this--pure interrogation, rhetorical question less the rhetoric--whatever else it may have been obliged by social reality to appear.

I can't go on. I'll go on.

The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).

If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.

Do you always believe in the life to come? Mine was always that.