I have always struggled, with the sole intention of ceasing to struggle. Result: zero.

By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.

History proves nothing because it contains everything.

How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.

Criticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselves.

What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!

True contact between beings is established only by mute presence, by apparent non-communication, by that mysterious and wordless exchange which resembles inward prayer.