There's something vile (and all the more vile because ridiculous) in the tendency of feeble men to make universal tragedies out of the sad comedies of their private woes.

I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect

I’m beginning to know myself. I don’t exist. I’m the space between what I’d like to be and what others made of me. Just let me be at ease and all by myself in my room.

This world is for those who are born to conquer it, Not for those who dream that are able to conquer it, even if they're right.

Could it think, the heart would stop beating.

Art gives us the illusion of liberation from the sordid business of being.

I know nothing and my heart aches