Look, there's no metaphysics on earth but chocolates.

I seek and don’t find myself. I belong to chrysanthemum hours, neatly lined up in flowerpots.

Every gesture is a revolutionary act.

My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.

Action men are the unvoluntary slaves of wise men.

I’ve always wanted to be liked. It grieved me that I was treated with indifference. Left an orphan by Fortune, I wanted—like all orphans—to be the object of someone’s affection. This need has always been a hunger that went unsatisfied, and so thoroughly have I adapted to this inevitable hunger that I sometimes wonder if I really feel the need to eat. Whatever be the case, life pains me.

It's been a long time since I've been me.