“I am going to outlive myself. Eat, sleep, sleep, eat. Exist slowly, softly, like these trees, like a puddle of water, like the red bench in the streetcar.”

I think that is the big danger in keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything.

I said to myself, ‘I want to die decently’.

In love, one and one are one.

Existence is an imperfection.

I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.

You are — your life, and nothing else.

I am not asking for sensational revelations, but I would like to sense the meaning of that minute, to feel it’s urgency.

It was odd, he thought, that a man could hate himself as though he were someone else.

Existence is prior to essence.

Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.

I think of death only with tranquility, as an end. I refuse to let death hamper life. Death must enter life only to define it.

For an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it.

It’s strange. I felt less lonely when I didn’t know you.

Genius is what a man invents when he is looking for a way out.

You’re lucky. I’m always conscious of myself —in my mind. Painfully conscious.

A madman’s ravings are absurd in relation to the situation in which he finds himself, but not in relation to his madness.

The only people I truly envy are those who can play a musical instrument and those who can eat anything they want without gaining weight.

Eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably.

Being an entrepreneur is like eating glass and staring into the abyss of death.

In my world, everyone’s a pony and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies!

Animals are my friends and I don’t eat my friends.

Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you’ll have to eat them, you can swallow it well.

Fools make feasts and wise men eat them.

Why can’t I just eat my waffle?