What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!
Is it possible that existence is our exile and nothingness our home?
Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.
Tears do not burn except in solitude.
Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.
Insomnia is a vertiginous lucidity that can convert paradise itself into a place of torture.