All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naive. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization that everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself.

It is sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves.

:[T]o whom can I be responsible, and why should I be, when you refuse to see me? And wait until I reveal how truly irresponsible I am. Responsibility rests upo…

When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination-indeed, everything and anything except me.

Leaving home in a sense involves a kind of second birth in which we give birth to ourselves.

As soon as the love relationship does not lead me to me, as soon as I in a love relationship do not lead another person to himself, this love, even if it seems…

Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he is only trying on one face after another to find his own.