Between Ennui and Ecstasy unwinds our whole experience of time.

He who hates himself is not humble.

We have lost, being born, as much as we shall lose dying: Everything!

To Foreswear vengeance is to chain oneself to forgiveness, to flounder in pardon, to be tainted by the hatred smothered within.

Pursued by our origins... we all are.

If I were to be totally sincere, I would say that I do not know why I live and why I do not stop living. The answer probably lies in the irrational character of life which maintains itself without reason.

I do not forgive myself for being born. It is as if creeping into this world, I had profaned a mystery, betrayed some momentous pledge, committed a fault of nameless gravity.