If I write what I feel, it's to reduce the fever of feeling. What I confess is unimportant, because everything is unimportant.

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.

The idea of any social obligation ... just the idea of it embarasses my thoughts for a day, and sometimes it's since the day before that I worry, and don't sleep well, and the real affair, when it happens, is absolutely insignificant and justifies nothing; and the case repeats itself and I never learn to learn.

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

To need to dominate others is to need others. The commander is dependent.

I'm a man for whom the outside world is an inner Reality.

What is art but the denial of life?