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One day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second.

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The only sin is the sin of being born

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No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

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The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.

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Ah earth you old extinguisher.

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I shall soon be quite dead at last in spite of all.

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And on the threshold of being no more I succeed in being another.

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With a cluther of limbs and organs, all that is needed to live again, to hold out a little time, I'll call that living, I'll say it's me, I'll get sta...more

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They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.

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To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.