The process of writing has something infinite about it. Even though it is interrupted each night, it is one single notation.

The profoundest thoughts of the philosophers have something trickle about them. A lot disappears in order for something to suddenly appear in the palm of the hand.

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

Adults find pleasure in deceiving a child. They consider it necessary, but they also enjoy it. The children very quickly figure it out and then practice deception themselves.

A child. . . opens and closes like a blossom.

The fear of burglars is not only the fear of being robbed, but also the fear of a sudden and unexpected clutch out of the darkness.

People love as self-recognition what they hate as an accusation.