We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It's our own concept—our own selves—that we love.

Life is whatever we conceive it to be.

The unnatural and the strange have a perfume of their own

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.

I Know, I Alone I know, I alone How much it hurts, this heart With no faith nor law Nor melody nor thought. Only I, only I And none of this can I say Because feeling is like the sky - Seen, nothing in it to see.

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

It's in an inland sea that the river of my life ended.