Suffering is by no means a privilege, a sign of nobility, a reminder of God. Suffering is a fierce, bestial thing, commonplace, uncalled for, natural as air. It is intangible; no one can grasp it or fight against it; it dwells in time - is the same thing as time; if it comes in fits and starts, that is only so as to leave the sufferer more defenseless during the moments that follow, those long moments when one relives the last bout of torture and waits for the next.

Great lovers will always be unhappy, because, for them, love is of supreme importance. Consequently they demand of their beloved the same intensity of thought as they have for her, otherwise they feel betrayed.

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends

Idleness makes hours pass slowly and years swiftly. Activity makes the hours short and the years long.

Perfect behaviour is born of complete indifference.

The cadence of suffering has begun. Every evening at dusk, my heart constricts until night has come.

Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will. All the rest - thought, action - is just a pastime, mental or physical. What counts then, is to come to grips with reality. The rest can go.