Only The Ephemeral Is Of Lasting Value.

That's How We Stay Young These Days: Murder And Suicide.

For Me, It Is As Though At Every Moment The Actual World Had Completely Lost Its Actuality. As Though There Was Nothing There; Asthough There Were No Foundations For Anything Or As Though It Escaped Us. Only One Thing, However, Is Vividly Present: The Constant Tearing Of The Veil Of Appearances; The Constant Destruction Of Everything In Construction. Nothing Holds Together, Everything Falls Apart.

There Is Nothing Truer Than Myth: History, In Its Attempt To Realize Myth, Distorts It, Stops Halfway; When History Claims To Have Succeeded, This Is Nothing But Humbug And Mystification. Everything We Dream Is Realizable. Reality Does Not Have To Be: It Is Simply What It Is.

The End Of Childhood Is When Things Cease To Astonish Us. When The World Seems Familiar, When One Has Got Used To Existence, One Has Become An Adult.

I Long For Solitude And Yet I Cannot Stand It.