“By day they’re full ofmeaningless activity; by night they’re full of ameaningless lack of it.By day I am nothing, and by nightI am I. There is no diference between me and thesestreets, save they being streets and I a soul, whichperhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things.”

“Walking on these streets, until the night falls, my life feels to me like the life they have. By day they’re full of meaningless activity; by night, they’re full of meaningless lack of it. By day I am nothing, and by night I am I. There is no difference between me and these streets, save they being streets and I a soul, which perhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things”

“But I am not perfect in my way of putting thingsBecause I lack the divine simplicityOf being only what I appear to be.”

“A being who, as I grew older, lost imagination, emotion, a type of intelligence, a way of feeling things - all that which, while it made me sorry, did not horrify me. But what am I experiencing when I read myself as if I were someone else? On which bank am I standing if I see myself in the depths?”

“I walk along a street and see in the faces of the passersby not the expression they really have but the expression they would have for me if they knew about my life and how I am, if I carried, transparent in my gestures and my face, the ridiculous, timid abnormality of my soul.”

“Tomorrow I too - this feeling and thinking soul, the universe I am to myself - yes, tomorrow I too will be someone who no longer walks the streets, someone others will evoke with a vague: 'I wonder what's become of him?' And everything I do, everything I feel, everything I experience, will be just one less passer-by on the daily streets of some city or other.”

“I am the escaped one,After I was bornThey locked me up inside meBut I left. My soul seeks me, Through hills and valley,I hope my soulNever finds me.”