A Book Is A Suicide Postponed.

I Don’t Understand Why We Must Do Things In This World, Why We Must Have Friends And Aspirations, Hopes And Dreams. Wouldn’t It Be Better To Retreat To A Faraway Corner Of The World, Where All Its Noise And Complications Would Be Heard No More? Then We Could Renounce Culture And Ambitions; We Would Lose Everything And Gain Nothing; For What Is There To Be Gained From This World?

Once You See That Everything Is Unreal, You Can't See Why You Should Bother To Prove It.

Tolerance Cannot Seduce The Young.

We Die In Proportion To The Words We Fling Around Us.

One Cannot Live Without Motives. I Have No Motives Left, And I Am Living.