Not long ago I learned from a certain person in considerable detail about the worthlessness of your character. All the same, it is you who have given me strength, you who have put the rainbow of revolution in my breast. It is you who have given an object to my life.

A true artist is an ugly man.

What is society but an individual? [] The ocean is not society; it is individuals. This was how I managed to gain a modicum of freedom from my terror at the illusion of the ocean called the world.

Mine has been a life of much shame. I can't even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.

I want to spend my time with people who don't look to be respected. But such good people won't want to spend their time with me.

What uneasiness lies in being loved.

Victims. Victims of a transitional period of morality. That is what we both certainly are.