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.

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

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.

Whenever I was asked what I wanted my first impulse was to answer "Nothing." The thought went through my mind that it didn't make any difference, that nothing was going to make me happy.

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.

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

At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.