My dreams are a stupid refuge, like an umbrella against a thunderbolt.

And I have the others in me. Even when I’m far away from them, I am forced to live with them. Even when I’m all alone, crowds surround me. I have no place to flee to, unless I were to flee from myself.

Life hurls us like a stone, and we sail through the air saying, "look at me move.

I was a poet animated by philosophy, not a philosopher with poetic faculties.

My boredom with everything has numbed me.

...the painful intensity of my sensations, even when they're happy ones; the blissful intensity of my sensations, even when they're sad.

I look at myself but I'm missing. I know myself: it’s not me.