Every revolution evaporates and leaves behind only the slime of a new bureaucracy.

How can one take delight in the world unless one flees to it for refuge?

The true way goes over a line that, rather than spanning heights, is hardly above the ground. It appears more decidedly to make one trip than to be walked along.

A first sign of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.

You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel they were once real and are now fleeting away.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

All I am is literature, and I am not able or willing to be anything else.