Sunday, November 7, 2010

quoth the madman

Each time autumn arrives with its austere intoxications, I suffer as if every hope that I carry within me and which are the same as those that illuminated my twentieth year were going to expire forever along with the dead leaves. I am afraid of being old and of no longer being able to inspire love, which is a true death for a man of my nature and with my needs for madness of mind and body.
~ Letter ~ FĂ©licien Rops