Now that I am moving, I am afraid. Where am I going?

I cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.

The inner chambers of the soul are like the photographer's darkroom. Like a laboratory. One cannot stay there all the time or it becomes the solitary cell of the neurotic.

The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements.

I want to make my own discoveries…….penetrate the evil which attracts me

Why do I doubt her? Perhaps she is just very sensitive, and hypersensitive people are false when others doubt them; they waver. And one thinks them insincere. Yet I want to believe her. At the same time it does not seem so very important that she should love me. It is not her role. I am so filled with my love of her. And at the same time I feel that I am dying. Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.

I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension