To think is to destroy. The very process of thought indicates it for the same thought, as thinking is decomposing.

Walking on these streets, until the night falls, my life feels to me like the life they have. By day they’re full of meaningless activity; by night, they’re full of meaningless lack of it. By day I am nothing, and by night I am I. There is no difference between me and these streets, save they being streets and I a soul, which perhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things

In order to understand, I destroyed myself.

Without madness what is man But a wholesome beast, Postponed corpse that begets?

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

Let us sculpt in hopeless silence all our dreams of speaking.

The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.