To every man who struggles with his own soul in mystery, a book that is a book flowers once, and seeds, and is gone.

I never knew how soothing trees are-many trees and patches of open sunlight, and tree presences; it is almost like having another being.

The more scholastically educated a man is generally, the more he is an emotional boor.

Satire exists for the purpose of killing the social being [for the sake of] the true individual, the real human being.

That is your trick, your bit of filthy magic: invisibility, and the anaesthetic power to deaden my attention in your direction.

The great virtue in life is real courage that knows how to face facts and live beyond them.

Why, oh why must one grow up, why must one inherit this heavy, numbing responsibility of living an undiscovered life? Out of the nothingness and the undifferentiated mass, to make something of herself! But what? In the obscurity and pathlessness to take a direction! But whither? How take even one step? And yet, how stand still? This was torment indeed, to inherit the responsibility of one’s own life.