The Desire To Die Was My One

The Mind Is The Result Of The Torments The Flesh Undergoes Or Inflicts Upon Itself.

To Live In Any True Sense Of The Word Is To Reject Others; To Accept Them, One Must Be Able To Renounce, To Do Oneself Violence, To Act Against One's Own Nature, To Weaken Oneself; We Conceive Freedom Only For Ourselves - We Extend It To Our Neighbours Only At The Cost Of Exhausting Efforts; Whence The Precariousness Of Liberalism, A Defiance Of Our Instincts, A Brief And Miraculous Success, A State Of Exception, At The Antipodes Of Our Deepest Imperatives.

How Important Can It Be That I Suffer And Think? My Presence In This World Will Disturb A Few Tranquil Lives And Will Unsettle The Unconscious And Pleasant Naiveté Of Others. Although I Feel That My Tragedy Is The Greatest In History - Greater Than The Fall Of Empires - I Am Nevertheless Aware Of My Total Insignificance. I Am Absolutely Persuaded That I Am Nothing In This Universe; Yet I Feel That Mine Is The Only Real Existence.

To Venture Upon An Undertaking Of Any Kind, Even The Most Insignificant, Is To Sacrifice To Envy.

We Die In Proportion To The Words We Fling Around Us.