My boredom with everything has numbed me.
Everything I sought in life I abandoned for the sake of the search. I’m like one who absentmindedly looks for he doesn’t know what, having forgotten it in his dreaming as the search got under way.
Friends: not one. Just a few acquaintances who imagine they feel something for me and who might be sorry if a train ran over me and the funeral was on a rainy day.
Having never discovered qualities in myself that might attract someone else, I could never believe that anyone felt attracted to me.
The chill of what I won’t feel gnaws at my present heart.
Life is whatever we conceive it to be.
Blessed are those who entrust their lives to no one.
I crave time in all its duration, and I want to be myself unconditionally.
I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me.
Whether or not they exist we are slaves to our gods.
I know nothing and my heart aches.
To know nothing about yourself is to live. To know yourself badly is to think.
We live by action – by acting on desire. Those of us who don’t know how to want – whether geniuses or beggars – are related by impotence.
The essence of what I desire is simply this: to sleep away life.
I never had anyone I could call “Master”. No Christ died for me. No Buddha showed me the right path. In the depths of my dreams no Apollo or Athena appeared to me to enlighten my soul.
Let’s absurdify life, from east to west. Let us play hide-and-seek with our consciousness of living.
To create, I destroyed myself; I made myself external to such a degree within myself that within myself I do not exist except in an external fashion. I am the living setting in which several actors make entrances, putting on several different plays.
There’s enough metaphysics in not thinking about anything.
The human soul is an abyss.
If we knew the truth, we’d see it; all else is system and outskirts.