I feel alone, free, and detached from everything in the world, and I'm happy.

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.

While to live in the past and think of what was good and beautiful about it amounts to a sort of seasoning of the present, the perennial wait for tomorrow is bound to result in chronic discontent that poisons one's entire outlook.

Now more than ever do I realize that I will never be content with a sedentary life, that I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.

Death does not frighten me, but dying obscurely and above all uselessly does.

We are, all of us, poor wretches, and those who prefer not to understand this are even worse off than the rest of us.