On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A fisherman mends a glimmering net.

I liked beaches, swimming pools, and clinics for there they were the bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. I pitied them and myself, but this will not protect me. The word and the thought are over.

A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death - the huge solace of thinking that for our betrayals, greed, cowardice, murders we are not going to be judged.

Language is the only homeland.

We have become indifferent to content, and react, not even to form, but to technique, to technical efficiency itself.

Human material seems to have one major defect: it does not like to be considered merely as human material. It finds it hard to endure the feeling that it must resign itself to passive acceptance of changes introduced from above.

Learning To believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.