I'm a man for whom the outside world is an inner Reality.

I come closer to my desk as to a bulwark against life.

Walking on these streets, until the night falls, my life feels to me like the life they have. By day they’re full of meaningless activity; by night, they’re full of meaningless lack of it. By day I am nothing, and by night I am I. There is no difference between me and these streets, save they being streets and I a soul, which perhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things

The beauty of a naked body is felt only by the dressed races.

I feel as if I'm always on the verge of waking up.

My past is everything I failed to be.

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