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

We live by action—by acting on desire. Those of us who don't know how to want—whether geniuses or beggars—are related by impotence.

To have opinions is to sell out to youself. To have no opinions is to exist. To have every opinion is to be a poet.

It's not demons (who at least have a human face) but Hell itself that seems to be laughing inside me, it's the croaking madness of the dead universe, the spinning cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds blowing blackly in the wind, formless and timeless, without a God who created it, without even its own self, impossibly whirling in the absolute darkness as the one and only reality, everything.

Everything I sought in life I abandoned for the sake of the search. I'm like one who absentmindedly looks for he doesn't know what, having forgotten it in his dreaming as the search got under way.

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

Give to each emotion a personality, to each state of mind a soul.