But do we really live? To live without knowing what life is - is that living?
Be what I think? But I think of being so many things!
Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me!
Blessed are those who entrust their lives to no one.
Art consists in making others feel what we feel.
To have opinions is to sell out to youself. To have no opinions is to exist. To have every opinion is to be a poet.
...the painful intensity of my sensations, even when they're happy ones; the blissful intensity of my sensations, even when they're sad.
I wasn’t meant for reality, but life came and found me.
I'm sick of everything, and of the everythingness of everything.
I bear the wounds of all the battles I avoided.
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
Everything interests me, but nothing holds me.
Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveler. What we see isn't what we see but what we are.