Life is possible only by the deficiencies of our imagination and memory.
What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!
If there is anyone who owes everything to Bach, it is certainly God.
What do you do from morning to night?" "I endure myself.
No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one.
By what aberration has suicide, the only truly normal action, become the attribute of the flawed?