My whole life has been merely a succession of miserable and unsuccessful denials of feelings or reason.

Afraid of decision, I buried my finer feelings in the depths of my heart and they died there.

He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.

I was born, so that the whole world could be a spectatorOf my triumph or my doom.

I love enemies, though not in the Christian way. They amuse me, excite my blood. Being always on one’s guard, catching every glance, the significance of every word, guessing at intentions, frustrating their plots, pretending to be tricked, and suddenly, with a shove, upturning the whole enormous and arduously built edifice of their cunning and schemes—that’s what I call life.

Women only love those that they don’t know.

And I, as I lived, in an alien landWill die a slave and an orphan.