“This little boy playing next to me is an intellectual mass of cells - better yet, he's a clockwork of subatomic movements, a strange electrical conglomeration of millions of solar systems in minature. [58, Zenith trans.]”

“Ah, what a morning this is, awakening me to life's stupidity. [98 - Zenith trans.]”

“back home.. the tablecloth of civilization makes us forget the already painted pine it covers! ([50], Zenith trans.)”

“Let's adopt all the poses and gestures of something we aren't and don't wish to be, and don't even wish to be taken for being.Let's buy books so as not to read them; let's go to concerts without caring to hear the music or see who's there; let's take long walks because we're sick of walking; and let's spend whole days in the country, just because it bores us. [23](Zenith trans.)”

“AutopsychographyThe poet is a man who feignsAnd feigns so thoroughly, at lastHe manages to feign as painThe pain he really feels,And those who read what once he wroteFeel clearly, in the pain they read,Neither of the pains he felt,Only a pain they cannot sense.And thus, around its jolting trackThere runs, to keep our reason busy,The circling clockwork train of oursThat men agree to call a heart.”

“Nothing would bother me more than if they found me strange at the office. I like to revel in the irony that they don't find me at all strange. I like the hair shirt of being regarded by them as their equal. I like the crucifixion of being considered no different. THere are martyrdoms more subtle than those recorded for the saints and hermits. There are torments of our mental awareness as there are of the body and of desire. And in the former, as in the latter, there's a certain sensuality.....”

“They spoke to me of people, and of humanity.But I've never seen people, or humanity.I've seen various people, astonishingly dissimilar,Each separated from the next by an unpeopled space.”