"The Holy Ghost," Luther instructs us, "is not a skeptic." Not everyone can be, and that is really too bad.

A sudden silence in the middle of a conversation suddenly brings us back to essentials: it reveals how dearly we must pay for the invention of speech.

What is pity but the vice of kindness.

The fear of your own solitude, of its vast surface and its infinity… Remorse is the voice of solitude. And what does this whispering voice say? Everything in us that is not human anymore.

I'm simply an accident. Why take it all so seriously?

We inhabit a language rather than a country.

Doubt works deep within you like a disease or, even more effectively, like a faith.