Writing is a sweet, wonderful reward.

Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.

The state we find ourselves in is sinful quite independent of guilt.

Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.

German is my mother tongue and as such more natural to me, but I consider Czech much more affectionate, which is why your letter removes several uncertainties; I see you more clearly, the movements of your body, your hands, so quick, so resolute, it’s almost like a meeting.

Man cannot live without a continuous confidence in something indestructible within himself.

This perversion of the truth, familiar to the artist though it was, always unnerved him afresh and proved too much for him. What was a consequence of the premature ending of his fast was here presented as the cause of it! To fight against this lack of understanding, against a whole world of nonunderstanding, was impossible.