Here I am on the shore of Brittany. Let the cities light up in the evening. My day is done. I am leaving Europe. The sea air will burn my lungs. Lost climates will tan me. I will swim, trample the grass, hung, and smoke especially. I will drink alcohol as strong as boiling metal — just as my dear ancestors did around their fires.

If you start looking like vour passport photo, it's high time you went abroad.

for a moment I felt an intense desire to pass out and escape my life

I felt like poisoning a monk.

I could be unraveling wherever I'm traveling, even to foreign shores.

I've thought of firing myself multiple times.

Now, the smoke fills the air
In this honky-tonk bar.
And I'm thinking 'bout where I'd rather be.
But I burned all my bridges;
I sank all my ships.
And I'm stranded at the edge of the sea.

I feel like getting married, or committing suicide, or subscribing to L'Illustration. Something desperate, you know.

there have been times when I have thought, if the whole country would sink, and hide all this injustice and misery from the light, I would willingly sink with it.

In view of my previous weariness of office, and vague thoughts of resignation, my fortune somewhat resembled that of a person who should entertain an idea of committing suicide, and, altogether beyond his hopes, meet with the good hap to be murdered.

What I really felt like, though, was committing suicide. I felt like jumping out the window. I probably would've done it, too, if I'd been sure somebody'd cover me up as soon as I landed. I didn't want a bunch of stupid rubbernecks looking at me when I was all gory.

I probably would have killed myself. There was a 90% chance. That's how toxic that place was

In my case, the efforts for these years to live in the dress of Arabs, and to imitate their mental foundation, quitted me of my English self, and let me look at the West and its conventions with new eyes: they destroyed it all for me. At the same time I could not sincerely take on the Arab skin: it was an affectation only… Sometimes these selves would converse in the void; and then madness was very near, as I believe it would be near the man who could see things through the veils at once of two customs, two educations, two environments.

I was filled with such a dangerous delicious intoxication that I could have walked straight off the steps into the air, climbing on the strength of my own drunkeness into the stars. And the intoxication, as I knew even then, was the recklessness of infinite possibility.