Consciousness is nature's nightmare. (p.102)

We cannot sufficiently blame the nineteenth century for having favored that breed of glossators, those reading machines, that deformation of the mind incarnate…

What to think of other people? I ask myself this question each time I make a new acquaintance. So strange does it seem to me that we exist, and that we consent…

The desire to die was my one and only concern; to it I have sacrificed everything, even death. (p.74)