I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.
But do we really live? To live without knowing what life is - is that living?
Wasting time has an esthetics to it.
Life is good, but Wine is better.
I feel as if I'm always on the verge of waking up.
Attention to detail and a perfectionist instinct, far from stimulating action, are character qualities that lead to renunciation. Better to dream than to be.