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

I realize that I was all error and deviation, that I never lived, that I existed only in so far as I filled time with consciousness and thought.

Let's absurdify life, from east to west. Let us play hide-and-seek with our consciousness of living.

Never having discovered qualities in myself which could attract someone else, I could never believe that anyone felt attracted to me.

I sometimes think that I enjoy suffering. But the truth is I would prefer something else.

It's been months since I last wrote. I've lived in a state of mental slumber, leading the life of someone else. I've felt, very often, a vicarious happiness. I haven't existed. I've been someone else. I've lived without thinking.

Everything is theater.