Quant à moi, maintenant, j'ai fermé mon âme. Je ne dis plus à personne ce que je crois, ce que je pense et ce que j'aime. Me sachant condamné à l'horrible solitude, je regarde les choses, sans jamais...
We are, on earth, two distinct races. Those who have need of others, whom others amuse, engage soothe, whom solitude harasses, pains, stupefies, like the movement of a terrible glacier or the traversi...
Words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face. But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare.
Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.