I choose solitude over cold kisses. If it isn’t love, it is poison.
He felt if he could not be alone, and if he could not be left alone, he would die.
Is there nowhere in an American house where one may be by one’s self?
How can you hear your soul if everyone is talking?
Et quelqu’un qui parle. À lui-même. Pour ne pas être tout seul.
Solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine.
In the silence of night, great minds either unite or die
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