To be a friend of the weak-that is the artist's point of departure as well as his ultimate goal.

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.

Any man who criticizes my suicide and passes judgment on me with an expression of superiority, declaring (without offering the least help) that I should have gone on living my full complement of days, is assuredly a prodigy among men quite capable of tranquilly urging the Emperor to open a fruit shop.

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.

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.

It isn't that I dislike artists, but I can't stand anyone who puts on those ponderous airs of a man of character.

I also have the impression that many women have been able, instinctively, to sniff out this loneliness of mine, which I confided to no one, and this in later years was to become one of the causes of my being taken advantage of.