I’m losing my taste for everything, including even my taste for finding everything tasteless.

I'm a man for whom the outside world is an inner Reality.

Everything around me is evaporating. My whole life, my memories, my imagination and its contents, my personality - it's all evaporating. I continuously feel that I was someone else, that I felt something else, that I thought something else. What I'm attending here is a show with another set. And the show I'm attending is myself.

I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing.

I crave time in all its duration, and I want to be myself unconditionally.

The world belongs to who doesn't feel. The primary condition to be a practical man is the absence of sensitivity.

The superiority of the dreamer is that dreaming is much more practical than living, and that the dreamer extracts from life a much vaster and varied pleasure than the action man. In better and more direct words, the dreamer is the real action man.