A first visit to a madhouse is always a shock.

If I have a stupid day, everything looks wrong to me.

Create around one at least a small circle where matters are arranged as one wants them to be.

Why do we go around acting as though everything was friendship and reliability when basically everything everywhere is full of sudden hate and ugliness?

If some longing goes unmet, don't be astonished. We call that Life.

Everything becomes so problematic because of basic faults: from a discontent with myself.

We are imprisoned in the realm of life, like a sailor on his tiny boat, on an infinite ocean.