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Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.

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To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
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What do I know of man’s destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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But I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.
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The essential doesn’t change.
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Dear incomprehension, it’s thanks to you I’ll be myself, in the end.
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Fail, fail again, fail better.
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