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.

The real things are apt to be deviant.

The world, after all, was still a place of bottomless horror. It was by no means a place of childlike simplicity where everything could be settled by a simple then-and-there decision.

Labeled a delinquent. That's the only kind of label I want to be crucified under.

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

What did he mean by "society"? The plural of human beings?

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