Each of us must turn inward and destroy in himself all that he thinks he ought to destroy in others.

We should be willing to act as a balm for all wounds.

Sometimes I try my hand at turning out small profundities and uncertain short stories, but I always end up with just one single word: God.

Our desire must be like a slow and stately ship, sailing across endless oceans, never in search of safe anchorage. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, it will find mooring for a moment.

I would be so exhausted by my determination that I had no strength left to do the actual work.

After each creative act one has to be sustained by one's strength of character, by a moral sense, by I don't know what, lest one tumble.

I feel like a small battlefield in which the problems, or some of the problems, of our time are being fought out. All one can hope to do is keep oneself humbly available, to allow oneself to be a battlefield. After all, the problems must be accommodated, have somewhere to struggle and come to rest and we, poor little humans, must put our inner space at their service and not run away.