Writing is like paying myself a formal visit.

It's not demons (who at least have a human face) but Hell itself that seems to be laughing inside me, it's the croaking madness of the dead universe, the spinning cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds blowing blackly in the wind, formless and timeless, without a God who created it, without even its own self, impossibly whirling in the absolute darkness as the one and only reality, everything.

The value of things is not the time they last, but the intensity with which they occur. That is why there are unforgettable moments and unique people!

The abstract intelligence produces a fatigue that's the worst of all fatigues. It doesn't weigh on us like bodily fatigue, nor disconcert like the fatigue of emotional experience. It's the weight of our consciousness of the world, a shortness of breath in our soul.

To know how to think with emotions and to feel with intellect.

To need to dominate others is to need others. The commander is dependent.

I always live in the present. The future I can't know. The past I no longer have.