Everything turns on pain; the rest is accessory, even nonexistent, for we remember only what hurts. Painful sensations being the only real ones, it is virtually useless to experience others.
Every word affords me pain. Yet how sweet it would be if I could hear what the flowers have to say about death!
The limit of every pain is an even greater pain.
Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.
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