I write only for my shadow which is cast on the wall in front of the light. I must introduce myself to it.

[Death is] the best asylum for pains and sorrows and troubles and the injustices of life.

In life there are certain sores which, like a kind of canker, slowly erode the soul in solitude.

Only death does not lie.

What relationship could exist between the lives of the fools and healthy rabble who were well, who slept well, who performed the sexual act well, who had never felt the wings of death on their face every moment - what relationship could exist between them and one like me who has arrived at the end of his rope and who knows that he will pass away gradually and tragically?

My one fear is that tomorrow I may die without having come to know myself.

If there was no death, everyone would wish for it.