He walked on in silence, the solitary sound of his footsteps echoing in his head, as in a deserted street, at dawn. His solitude was so complete, beneath a lovely sky as mellow and serene as a good conscience, amid that busy throng, that he was amazed at his own existence; he must be somebody else's nightmare, and whoever it was would certainly awaken soon.

Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.

it was odd, he thought, that a man could hate himself as though he were someone else.

When rich people fight wars with one another, poor people are the ones to die.

The past is the luxury of proprietors.

emotion is first of all and in principle an accident

[Contemporary writer] could be a kind of [Samuel] Beckett who would not be felt to be totally committed to despair.