The great writers of aphorisms read as if they had all known each other well.

I cannot become modest; too many things burn in me; the old solutions are falling apart; nothing has been done yet with the new ones. So I begin, everywhere at once, as if I had a century ahead of me.

He who is obsessed by death is made guilty by it.

There can be no Creator, simply because his grief at the fate of his creation would be inconceivable and unendurable.

Whether or not God is dead: it is impossible to keep silent about him who was there for so long.

In eternity everything is just beginning.

There is no such thing as an ugly language. Today I hear every language as if it were the only one, and when I hear of one that is dying, it overwhelms me as though it were the death of the earth.