After All, There Is Nothing But Failure.

You've Always Lived A Life Of Pretense, Not A Real Life-- A Simulated Existence, Not A Genuine Existence. Everything About You, Everything You Are, Has Always Been Pretense, Never Genuine, Never Real.

Everything Is What It Is, That's All. If We Keep Attaching Meanings And Mysteries To Everything We Perceive, Everything We See That Is, And To Everything That Goes On Inside Us, We Are Bound To Go Crazy Sooner Or Later, I Thought.

What Is Ridiculous About Human Beings, Doctor,' The Prince Said, 'is Actually Their Total Incapacity To Be Ridiculous

I Really Only Write About Inner Landscapes And Most People Don't See Them, Because They See Practically Nothing Within, Because They Think That Because It's Inside, It's Dark, And So They Don't See Anything. I Don't Think I've Ever Yet, In Any Of My Books, Described A Landscape. There's Really Nothing Of The Kind In Any Of Them. I Only Ever Write Concepts. And So I'm Always Referring To "mountains" Or "a City" Or "streets." But As To How They Look: I've Never Produced A Description Of A Landscape. That's Never Even Interested Me.

I Avoid Literature Whenever Possible, Because Whenever Possible I Avoid Myself.