On the road halfway between faith and criticism stands the inn of reason. Reason is faith in what can be understood without faith, but it's still a faith, since to understand presupposes that there's something understandable.

I believe that saying a thing is to keep its virtues and take away its terror.

Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveler. What we see isn't what we see but what we are.

And leaning out the window, enjoying the day above the varying volume of the entire city, only one thought swells my soul – the intimate will to die, to finish, not to see more light over any city, not to think, not to feel, to leave behind like wrapping paper the course of the sun and the days, to rid myself, at the edge of the grand bed, as of a heavy suit, of the involuntary effort to be.

I'd woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist.

The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.

We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.