If those who owe us nothing gave us nothing, how poor we would be.
Man, when he is merely what he seems to be, is almost nothing.
Everything is a little bit of darkness, even the light.
My bits of time play with eternity.
Human suffering, while it is asleep, is shapeless. If it is wakened it takes the form of the waker.
We tear life out of life to use it for looking at itself.