All Beginnings Are Involuntary.

The Unnatural And The Strange Have A Perfume Of Their Own

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 Only At Night And All Alone, Withdrawn, Forgotten And Lost, With No Connection To Anything Real Or Useful — Only Then Do I Find Myself And Feel Comforted.

There's A Non-existent Peace In The Uncertain Quietness

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

One Never Lives So Intensely As When One Has Been Thinking Hard.