I have the true feeling of myself only when I am unbearably unhappy.

A man of action forced into a state of thought is unhappy until he can get out of it.

I wanted to escape the unrest, to shut out the voices around me and within me, so I write.

I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.

I can once more carry on a conversation with myself, and don't stare so into complete emptiness. Only in this way is there any possibility of improvement for me.

So long as you have food in your mouth, you have solved all questions for the time being.

Nothing is as deceptive as a photograph.