Addiction is perhaps a sickness of the spirit.

I soon came to understand that drink, tobacco and prostitutes were all great means if dissipating (even for a few moments) my dread for human beings. I came even to feel that if I had to sell every last possession to obtain these means of escape, it would be well worth it.

As for love . . . no, having once written that word I can write nothing more.

Last year nothing happened The year before nothing happened And the year before that nothing happened.

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.

All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it? - I don't know.

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.