My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while.

To kill our dream life would be to kill ourselves, to mutilate our soul. Dreaming is the one thing we have that's really ours, invulnerably and inalterably ours.

What Hells and Purgatories and Heavens I have inside of me! But who sees me do anything that disagrees with life--me, so calm and peaceful?

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

To need to dominate others is to need others. The commander is dependent.

Life is full of paradoxes, as roses are of thorns.

Wasting time has an esthetics to it.