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.

My boredom with everything has numbed me.

To be understood is to prostitute oneself

I carry my awareness of defeat like a banner of victory.

I always live in the present. I don’t know the future and no longer have the past. The former oppresses me as the possibility of everything, the latter as the reality of nothing.

This world is for those who are born to conquer it, Not for those who dream that are able to conquer it, even if they're right.

But do we really live? To live without knowing what life is - is that living?