I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us.

The true way goes over a rope which is not stretched at any great height but just above the ground. It seems more designed to make people stumble than to be walked upon.

I never imagined that so many days would ultimately make such a small life.

First impressions are always unreliable.

But what if all the tranquility, all the comfort, all the contentment were now to come to a horrifying end?

My job is unbearable to me because it conflicts with my only desire and my only calling, which is literature. Since I am nothing but literature and can and want to be nothing else, my job will never take possession of me, it may, however, shatter me completely, and this is by no means a remote possibility.

Simply wait, be quiet, still The world will freely offer itself to you.