For common minds have an ugly ability to perceive in the deepest and richest saying nothing but their own everyday opinion.

Is there really nothing, nothing left of me?

If a Jew is fascinated by Christians it is not because of their virtues, which he values little, but because they represent anonymity, humanity without race.

A pale reflection of myself wavers in my consciousness...and suddenly the “I” pales, pales, and fades out.

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

Don't you feel the same way? When I cannot see myself, even though I touch myself, I wonder if I really exist.

Things are entirely what they appear to be and behind them... there is nothing.