I thought to myself: if it’s true that every person has a star in the sky, mine must be distant, dim, and absurd. Perhaps I never had a star.

Only death does not lie.

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

I thought to myself: if it’s true that every person has a star in the sky, mine must be distant, dim, and absurd. Perhaps I never had a star.

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

I have finally learned that I must remain silent as much as possible. I must always keep my thoughts to myself.

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