Whether or not they exist we are slaves to our gods.

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.

Have you ever considered, beloved other, how invisible we are to each other? We look at each other without seeing. We listen to each other and hear only a voice inside out self. The words of others are mistakes of our hearing, shipwrecks of our understanding. How confidently we believe OUR meanings of other people's words.

To have opinions is to sell out to youself. To have no opinions is to exist. To have every opinion is to be a poet.

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

And, like the great damned souls, I shall always feel that thinking is worth more than living.

Between me and life is a faint glass. No matter how sharply I see and understand life, I cannot touch it.