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

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

I crave time in all its duration, and I want to be myself unconditionally.

The idea of any social obligation ... just the idea of it embarasses my thoughts for a day, and sometimes it's since the day before that I worry, and don't sleep well, and the real affair, when it happens, is absolutely insignificant and justifies nothing; and the case repeats itself and I never learn to learn.

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.

I'd like to be in the country so that I'd could like being in the city.

pg.9 "In my heart there's a peaceful anguish, and my calm is made of resignation.