I had the same sensation as when we watch someone sleep. When asleep we all become children again. Perhaps because in the state of slumber we can do no wrong and are unconscious of life, the greatest criminal and most self- absorbed egotist are holy, by a natural magic, as long as they're sleeping. For me there's no discernible difference between killing a child and killing a sleeping man.

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

I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breath life into me.

The end of lower art is to please, the end of average art is to raise the top, the end of superior art is to free.

pg 9, "The consciousness of life's unconsciousness is the oldest tax levied on the intelligence.

I wasn’t meant for reality, but life came and found me.

La literatura es la manera más agradable de ignorar la vida.