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I inform him right away that I’m in a depression; he is stunned, then recovers. After this, the conversation drones on pleasantly for half an hour, but I know from now on its as if there’s an invisible wall between us. He will never again consider me as an equal, nor as a possible successor; in his eyes, I have forfeited all rights.
In ageing one becomes less seductive, and on that account bitter. One is jealous of the young and so one hates them. Condemned to remain unavoidable this hatred fosters and comes increasingly permanent; then it dies down and fades away, just as everything fades away. All that remains is resentment and disgust, sickness, and the anticipation of death
Unpleasant memories are erased less quickly than one thinks
Beauty is truth. Truth beauty.
My work is like a biography of my own personality
I’d rather people left my shows and vomited
I prefer extreme reactions
It is not easy to deal scientifically with feelings
With this identity is attained
