I'm still a nobody, when am I not going to be a nobody?
I am not confident unless I am playing someone else.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I grow aware of various forms of man and of myself. I am form and I am formless, I am life and I am matter, mortal and immortal. I am one and many — myself and humanity in flux.
Nobody can teach me who I am. You can describe parts of me, but who I am — and what I need — is something I have to find out myself.
I am Nobody, nobody is perfect, therefore I am perfect.
I am nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too?
I am myself and I am here.
I am most anxious to get into my London painting-room, for I do not consider myself at work unless I am before a six-foot canvas. I have done a good deal of skying for I am determined to conquer all difficulties, and that among the rest.
Now I see that I will never find the light
Unless, like the candle, I am my own fuel,
Consuming myself.