By imposing too great a responsibility, or rather, all responsibility, on yourself, you crush yourself.

Art is for the artist is only suffering through which he releases himself for further suffering.

I am on the hunt for constructions. I come into a room and find them whitely merging in a corner.

Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects.

A picture of my existence... would show a useless wooden stake covered in snow... stuck loosely at a slant in the ground in a ploughed field on the edge of a vast open plain on a dark winter night.

There are questions we could not get past if we were not set free from them by our very nature.

I won't give up the diary again. I must hold on here, it is the only place I can.