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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This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.

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I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than to take the path that leads to himself.

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No matter how long you stand there examining yourself naked before a mirror, you'll never see reflected what's inside.

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Things outside you are projections of what's inside you, and what's inside you is a projection of what's outside. So when you step into the labyrinth outside you, at the same time you're stepping into the labyrinth inside.

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I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put into words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.

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I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

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I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who I am.

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I am still so na�ve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don�t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?

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