At times I am shaken with a burst of brutal and unaccountable laughter.

From TimeOutAtSea

At times I am shaken with a burst of brutal and unaccountable laughter. It resounds within me like a joyous cry in the fog, which it seems to be trying to dissipate, but it leaves no trace other than a wistful longing for sun and gaiety.

We shall now hear the witness.

This discovery is impossible, I'm dreaming.

Would it not have been better to have danced the entire dance with a simple wire?

Howls as tragic as the cries of a dying virgin.

I provoked accidents along the verticality of the precipice. I summoned up frightful obstacles at the point of arrival.

The sweetness of my work entrances me.

There are times when we suddenly understand the hitherto unperceived meaning of certain expressions.

We live them we mutter them.

She cut off her lashes.

What do I care about the memory one has of me?

A young cyclist walks by, holding his machine by the handlebar.

I have read the letters, full of torches and despair, others more severe.

The queens on high had their own special language.

Slang was for men.

It was the male tongue.

It became a secondary sexual attribute.

They would say curtly:

"Cut it."