His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.

The creative personality never remains fixed on the first world it discovers. It never resigns itself to anything.

Too late for changes, too late perhaps for explanations and ideological webs, but the love goes on, the love goes on, blind to laws and warnings and even to wisdom and to fears. And whatever that love is, perhaps an illusion of a new love, I want it, I cant resist it, my whole being melts in one kiss, my knowledge melts, my fears melt, my blood dances, my legs open.

[in the]..curious way that my idealism has been mixed with my fatalism, so that I can possess the soul of a dreamer and that of a cynic at the same time......I possess a power of magic...[to] destroy the balance of a well-designed destiny with my diabolical mind.

Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.

When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.

I needed to live, but I also needed to record what I lived.