“I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.”

As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.

I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?

But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.

Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.

I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.

I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.

But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

What an old maid I’m getting to be. Lacking the courage to be in love with death!

Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

We should not be flying a flag of a group who wants to erase our history and bring mass destruction to our country through Communism.

Memories, all those little experiences make up the fabric of our lives and on balance, I wouldn’t want to erase any of them, tempting though it may be.

My heart is at ease knowing that what was meant for me will never miss me, and that what misses me was never meant for me.

We are all motivated far more than we care to admit by characteristics inherited from our ancestors which individual experiences of childhood can modify, repress, or enhance, but cannot erase.

Don’t work. Avoid telling the truth. Be hated. Love someone.

Ignorance is a blank sheet, on which we may write; but error is a scribbled one, on which we must first erase.

Nothing erases unpleasant thoughts more effectively than conscious concentration on pleasant ones.

One hundred years of joy can be erased in one second.