Another thing tormented me in those days: the fact that no one else was like me, and I was like no one else. I am alone, I thought, and they are everybody. And I worried about it.
Man loves to create [...] But when, then, does he also passionately love destruction and chaos? Tell me that! [...] Can it be that he is so dedicated to destruction and chaos [...], because is himself instinctively afraid of achieving his goal and completing the edifice he is constructing? [...]
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[...] give him such economic prosperity that he'll have nothing left to do but sleep, eat pastries, and busy himself with assuring the continuance of world history. And even then [...] He'll even risk his pastries and deliberately choose the most pernicious nonsense [...]
[...] I even think that the best definition of man is: a biped, ungrateful. [...]
These "notes" are a performance, part tirade, part memor, by a nameless personage who claims to be writing for himself alone but who consistently manipulates the reader--of whom he is morbidly aware--to the point where there seems to be no judgment the reader can make which the writer has not alrea…
