I think it is impossible for human minds to think of Death as a final, irrevocable end to life.

I am not afraid of death, but would not want to die in some obscure or pointless way.

The way I see it, there is no greater spiritual beauty than fanaticism, of a sort so sincere it can only end in martyrdom.

To be alone is to be free, and freedom was the only happiness accessible to my nature.

A subject to which few intellectuals ever give a thought is the right to be a vagrant, the freedom to wander. Yet vagrancy is a deliverance, and life on the open road is the essence of freedom. To have the courage to smash the chains with which modern life has weighted us (under the pretext that it was offering us more liberty), then to take up the symbolic stick and bundle and get out.

For those who know the value of and exquisite taste of solitary freedom (for one is only free when alone), the act of leaving is the bravest and most beautiful of all.

The savage hatred I feel for crowds is getting worse, natural enemies that they are of imagination and of thought.