Of the gods I ask only to be ignored. Without good or bad luck, I'll be free. like the wind that's the life of the air, which is nothing. Harred and love both seek ous out; Both oppress us, each in its own way. Those to whom the gods grant nothing are free.

I don't believe in anything but the existence of my
sensations; I have no other certainty, not even of the outer
universe conveyed to me by the sensations. I don't touch
the outer universe. I don't hear the outer universe. I don't touch
the outer universe. I see my visual impressions; I hear my
auditory impressions; I touch my tactile impressions; It's
the ears but with the soul that I hear; It's not with the skin
but with the soul that I touch. And if someone should ask
me what the soul is, I'll answer that it's me. Or not ?

This is the memory of my ? I don't know...