Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.

The struggle to emerge out of the past, clean of memories; the inadequacy of our hearts to cut life into separate and final portions; the pain of this constant ambivalence and interrelation of emotions; the hunger for frontiers against which we might learn as upon closed doors before we proceed forward; the struggle against diffusion, new beginnings, against finality in acts without finality or end, in our cursedly repercussive being.

I have no brakes on...analysis is for those who are paralyzed by life.

Convalescence. Such an utter weakness that you lie like an animal hibernating, playing possum. You float. You are adrift. Every current is stronger than you.

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.

The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.