It is easier to compare concrete things in a fictional story with concrete things in real life than it is to compare abstractions with concrete things in real life (though both are honorable and necessary things to do).
Everything that is not me is incomprehensible.
Yes, I read. I have that absurd habit. I like beautiful poems, moving poetry, and all the beyond of that poetry. I am extraordinarily sensitive to those poor, marvelous words left in our dark night by a few men I never knew.
Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness, and truth presupposes error. It is these mingled opposites which people our life, which make it pungent, intoxicating. We only exist in terms of this conflict, in the zone where black and white clash.
Can the knowledge deriving from reason even begin to compare with knowledge perceptible by sense?
No more painters, no more scribblers, no more musicians, no more sculptors, no more religions, no more royalists, no more radicals, no more imperialists, no more anarchists, no more socialists, no more communists, no more proletariat, no more democrats, no more republicans, no more bourgeois, no more aristocrats, no more arms, no more police, no more nations, an end at last to all this stupidity, nothing left, nothing at all, nothing, nothing.
I have no friends, there are only people I love.
I don't want to get into autobiographies, I don't want to talk about myself.
The brute necessity of believing something so long as life lasts does not justify any belief in particular.
The only time I think I've ever gotten sick of playing Guns and Roses songs really was during - after having played them in Guns and Roses, and then in Snakepit, and then playing 'It's So Easy' and 'Brownstone' in Velvet Revolver.
You spend so much time, so much effort, trying to hold yourself together. And then everything falls apart anyway.