To Him Who Has Nothing It Is

I Don’t Like Animals. It’s A Strange Thing, I Don’t Like Men And I Don’t Like Animals. As For God, He Is Beginning To Disgust Me.

There Are Two Moments Worthwhile In Writing, The One When You Start And The Other When You Throw It In The Waste-paper Basket.

The Fact Would Seem To Be, If In My Situation One May Speak Of Facts, Not Only That I Shall Have To Speak Of Things Of Which I Cannot Speak, But Also, Which Is Even More Interesting, But Also That I, Which Is If Possible Even More Interesting, That I Shall Have To, I Forget, No Matter. And At The Same Time I Am Obliged To Speak. I Shall Never Be Silent. Never.

All Has Not Been Said And Never Will Be.

We Always Find Something, Eh Didi, To Let Us Think We Exist?