Inch by inch I conquered the inner terrain I was born with. Bit by bit I reclaimed the swamp in which I'd languished. I gave birth to my infinite being, but I had to wrench myself out of me with forceps.

To live strikes me as a metaphysical mistake of matter, a dereliction of inaction.

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

I am the escaped one, After I was born They locked me up inside me But I left. My soul seeks me, Through hills and valley, I hope my soul Never finds me.

We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.

Decadence is the total loss of unconsciousness, which is the very basis of life. Could it think, the heart would stop beating.

Isn't joyful or painful this pain in which I rejoice