You don’t have to sing for me, just whistle

You don’t have to sing for me, just whistle









Your self esteem is like a notch below Kafka’s










A beauty still more beautiful in death
(“Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques”, Baudelaire, Hymne à la beauté)

Why did you ever come to call ? For in this far forgotten spot, we never should have met at all. And all this pain, so burning hot, I might have missed (Pouchkine, Eugène Onegine)














Tu me tues, tu me fais du bien







When a man’s riding high, the ground comes up and hits him a lot harder when he falls


Pick that up, the mountains don’t need your trash






