All that I've lived I've forgotten, as if I'd vaguely heard it. All that I'll be reminds me of nothing, as if I'd lived and forgotten it.

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.

The world belongs to who doesn't feel. The primary condition to be a practical man is the absence of sensitivity.

Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me!

Friends: not one. Just a few acquaintances who imagine they feel something for me and who might be sorry if a train ran over me and the funeral was on a rainy day.

For a long time now I haven't existed. I'm utterly calm. No one distinguishes me from who I am. I just felt myself breath as if I'd done something new, or done it late. I'm beginning to be conscious of being conscious. Perhaps tomorrow I will wake up to myself and resume the course of my existence. I don't know if that will make more happy or less. I don't know anything.

I'd woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist.