I Never Cared About Whatever Tragic Event

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 Only At Night And All Alone, Withdrawn, Forgotten And Lost, With No Connection To Anything Real Or Useful — Only Then Do I Find Myself And Feel Comforted.

That Is My Morality Or My Metaphysics Or Me Myself: A Passer-by In Everything, Even My Own Soul. I Belong To Nothing, I Desire Nothing, I Am Nothing Except An Abstract Centre Of Impersonal Sensations, A Sentient Mirror Fallen From The Wall But Still Turned To Reflect The Diversity Of The World.

There's No Regret More Painful Than The Regret Of Things That Never Were.

Without Madness What Is Man But A Wholesome Beast, Postponed Corpse That Begets?

I Believe That Saying A Thing Is To Keep Its Virtues And Take Away Its Terror.