My literary success meant nothing to me

I have had four happy days in my life, and three of them turned out to be illusions.

But what was a body? Dust, dung, urine, itches. It was the light within which was important, and it was not significant if that light endured after death, or if the soul was blinded eternally in the endless night of the suspired flesh.

I have thought that I have seen ghosts on many occasions.

The stalwart soul has the will to live and is eager for the race.

No woman has ever been an authentic genius of the stature of men, but that does not enrage me

I converse with my dog through ESP