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

The Bible is a sanctum; the world, sputum.

I'm thinking only of my illness and my health, though both, the first as well as the second, are you.

If something good has lost its way into you, it will make its escape overnight. I know you.

There is nothing besides a spiritual world; what we call the world of the senses is the Evil in the spiritual world, and what we call Evil is only the necessity of a moment in our eternal evolution.

In a certain sense the Good is comfortless.

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.