He Who Hates Himself Is

What Necessity Impels A Writer Who Has Produced Fifty Books To Write Still One More? Why This Proliferation, This Fear Of Being Forgotten, This Debased Coquetry?

Once You See That Everything Is Unreal, You Can't See Why You Should Bother To Prove It.

For A Long Time—always, In Fact—i Have Known That Life Here On Earth Is Not What I Needed And That I Wasn’t Able To Deal With It; For This Reason And For This Reason Alone, I Have Acquired A Touch Of Spiritual Pride, So That My Existence Seems To Me The Degradation And The Erosion Of A Psalm.

Try To Be Free: You Will Die Of Hunger.

It Is Not Worth The Bother Of Killing Yourself, Since You Always Kill Yourself Too Late.