I've always liked putting things in their places. I think it's my only true calling. By ordering things I create and understand at the same time... Ordering is finding the best form.

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If I raised the alarm at being alive, voiceless and hard they would drag me away since they drag away those who depart the possible world, the exceptional being is dragged away, the screaming being.

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I, who called love my hope for love.

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Would it be simplistic to think the moral problem with regards to others consists in behaving as one ought to, and the moral problem with regards to oneself is managing to feel what one ought to?

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Reality prior to my language exists as an unthinkable thought... life precedes love, bodily matter precedes the body, and one day in its turn language shall have preceded possession of silence.

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In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.

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"I" is merely one of the world's instantaneous spasms.

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What I want is to live of that initial and primordial something that was what made some things reach the point of aspiring to be human.

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The mystery of human destiny is that we are fated, but that we have the freedom to fulfill or not fulfill our fate: realization of our fated destiny depends on us. While inhuman beings like the cockroach realize the entire cycle without going astray because they make no choices.

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And I want to be held down. I don't know what to do with the horrifying freedom that can destroy me.

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