When they talk of ghosts of the dead who wander in the night with things still undone in life, they approximate my subjective experience of this life.

Because there is something helpless and weak and innocent - something like an infant - deep inside us all that really suffers in ways we would never permit an insect to suffer.

This world is nothing. An illusion. Death is the release.

When they talk of ghosts of the dead who wander in the night with things still undone in life, they approximate my subjective experience of this life.

Most important, you learn never to trust a man, even if he seems honest and sincere. You learn how men deceive themselves and how impossible it is to help them without injuring yourself.

The part of me which wanders through my mind and never sees or feels actual objects, but which lives in and moves through my passions and my emotions, experiences this world as a horrible nightmare.

Paranoia is an illness I contracted in institutions. It is not the reason for my sentences to reform school and prison. It is the effect, not the cause.