It is because I dove into the abyss that I am beginning to love the abyss I am made of.

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For there is only one great adventure and that is inward toward the self, and for that, time nor space nor even deeds matter.

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I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous man, the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the man in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable.

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Our culture made a virtue of living only as extroverts. We discouraged the inner journey, the quest for a center. So we lost our center and have to find it again.

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I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.

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I don�t really want to become normal, average, standard. I want merely to gain in strength, in the courage to live out my life more fully, enjoy more, experience more. I want to develop even more original and more unconventional traits.

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We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.

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Because the question for me was always whether that shape we see in our lives was there from the beginning or whether these random events are only called a pattern after the fact. Because otherwise we are nothing.

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My condition is not unhappiness, but it is also not happiness, not indifference, not weakness, not fatigue, not another interest � so what is it then?

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Forget everything. Open the windows. Clear the room. The wind blows through it. You see only its emptiness, you search in every corner and don�t find yourself.

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