Unhappiness was my god.

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

Faith assuages, guides, restores.

I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.

Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.