Then at certain moments I remember one of his words and I suddenly feel the sensual woman flaring up, as if violently caressed. I say the word to myself, with joy. It is at such a moment that my true body lives.

Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s.

A man who lives unrelated to other human beings dies. But a man who lives unrelated to himself also dies.

A big enough artist, I say, can eat anything, must eat everything and then alchemize it. Only the feeble writer is afraid of expansion.

To think of him in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living.

This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.

There is no bleaker moment in life of the city than that one which crosses the boundary lines between those who have not slept all night and those who are going to work. It was for Sabina as if two races of men and women lived on earth, the night people and the day people, never meeting face to face except at this moment.