Every day my anxiety is higher, every day the grief more mortal. Today more than yesterday terror exalts me…
The fury of confession, at first, then the fury of clarity: It was from you, Death, that such hypocritical obscure feeling was born! And now let them accuse me of every passion, let them bad-mouth me, let them say I’m deformed, impure, obsessed, a ...
We survive, in the confusion of a life reborn beyond reason.
