I'd woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist.
Solitude desolates me; company oppresses me.
Sometimes, when I wake up at night, I feel invisible hands weaving my destiny.
It's been a long time since I've been me.
The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.
In order to understand, I destroyed myself.
There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful.
To know how to think with emotions and to feel with intellect.
There's no regret more painful than the regret of things that never were.
There are metaphors more real than the people who walk in the street.
Literature exists because the world isn't enough.
My past is everything I failed to be.
Why is art beautiful? Because it's useless. Why is life ugly? Because it's all ends and purposes and intentions.
I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect
Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.
I feel as if I'm always on the verge of waking up.
Everything interests me, but nothing holds me.
I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.
Have you ever considered, beloved other, how invisible we are to each other? We look at each other without seeing. We listen to each other and hear only a voice inside out self. The words of others are mistakes of our hearing, shipwrecks of our understanding. How confidently we believe OUR meanings of other people's words.
I always live in the present. The future I can't know. The past I no longer have.
To be understood is to prostitute oneself
Could it think, the heart would stop beating.
I look at myself but I'm missing. I know myself: it’s not me.
Ah, what a morning this is, awakening me to life's stupidity. [98 - Zenith trans.]
Life is good, but Wine is better.
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