But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.

What frightened me was the logic of the world; in it lay the foretaste of something incalculably powerful. Its mechanism was incomprehensible, and I could not possibly remain closeted in that windowless, bone-chilling room. Though outside lay the sea of irrationality, it was far more agreeable to swim in its waters until presently I drowned.

But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.

I am convinced that those people whom the world considers good and respects are all liars and fakes. I do not trust the world. My only ally is the tagged dissolute. The tagged dissolute. That is the only cross on which I wish to be crucified. Though ten thousand people criticize me, I can throw in their teeth my challenge: Are you not all the more dangerous for being without tags?

People talk of “social outcasts.” The words apparently denote the miserable losers of the world, the vicious ones, but I feel as though I have been a “social outcast” from the moment I was born. If ever I meet someone society has designated as an outcast, I invariably feel affection for him, an emotion which carries me away in melting tenderness.

I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.

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.