Holding someone's hand was always my idea of joy.

Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting

For at the hour of death you became a celebrated film star, it is a moment of glory for everyone, when the choral music scales the top notes.

In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.

So long as I have questions to which there are no answers, I shall go on writing.

Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

I have grown weary of literature: silence alone comforts me. If I continue to write, it’s because I have nothing more to accomplish in this world except to wait for death. Searching for the word in darkness. Any little success invades me and puts me in full view of everyone. I long to wallow in the mud. I can scarcely control my need for self-abasement, my craving for licentiousness and debauchery. Sin tempts me, forbidden pleasures lure me. I want to be both pig and hen, then kill them and drink their blood.