Literature exists because the world isn't enough.
It's in an inland sea that the river of my life ended.
What is art but the denial of life?
Everything stated or expressed by man is a note in the margin of a completely erased text. From what's in the note we can extract the gist of what must have been in the text, but there's always a doubt, and the possible meanings are many.
Everything is theater.
I am tired of myself in every way. All things, deep down to the secret of their roots, are stained by the color of my weariness.