There is no rest for the humble except in despising the great, whose only thought of the people is inspired by self-interest or sadism.

The plain truth, I may as well admit it, is that I've never been really right in the head.

To philosophize is only another way of being afraid and leads hardly anywhere but to cowardly make-believe.

The mind is satisfied with phrased, but not the body, the body is more fastidious, it wants muscles. A body always tells the truth, that's why it's usually depressing and disgusting to look at.

To travel is very useful, it makes the imagination work, the rest is just delusion and pain. Our journey is entirely imaginary, which is its strength.

In circumstances of real tragedy you see things straight away...past, present, and future together.

The whole business of your life overwhelms you when you live alone. One's stupefied by it. To get rid of it you try to daub some of it off on to people who come to see you, and they hate that. To be alone trains one for death.