There is no happiness without knowledge. But knowledge of happiness is unhappy; for knowing ourselves happy is knowing ourselves passing through happiness, and having to, immediatly at once, leave it behind. To know is to kill, in happiness as in everything. Not to know, though, is not to exist.

It is noble to be shy, illustrious not to know how to act, great not to have a gift for living.

I've reached the point where tedium is a person, the incarnate fiction of my own company.

All that I've lived I've forgotten, as if I'd vaguely heard it. All that I'll be reminds me of nothing, as if I'd lived and forgotten it.

And, like the great damned souls, I shall always feel that thinking is worth more than living.

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.

I want to be a work of art, at least in my soul, since I can’t be one in my body.