Decadence is the total loss of unconsciousness, which is the very basis of life. Could it think, the heart would stop beating.

I’ve dreamed a lot. I’m tired now from dreaming but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake. In dreams I have achieved everything.

The Gods sell when they give. Glory is paid for with disgrace. Poor are the happy, for they are Just what passes.

Should you ask me if I'm happy, I'll answer that I'm not.

In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else's dream.

Never read a book to the end, nor even in sequence and without skipping.

To live strikes me as a metaphysical mistake of matter, a dereliction of inaction.