To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.
Under each formula lies a corpse.
I lost my sleep, and this is the greatest tragedy that can befall someone. It is much worse than sitting in prison.
By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing.
Is it possible that existence is our exile and nothingness our home?
I foresee the day when we shall read nothing but telegrams and prayers.