A stair not worn hollow by footsteps is, regarded from its own point of view, only a boring something made of wood.

So eager are our people to obliterate the present.

Time is short, my strength is limited, the office is a horror, the apartment is noisy, and if a pleasant, straightforward life is not possible, then one must try to wriggle through by subtle manoeuvres.

I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?

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

The true word leads; the untrue misleads.

We all have wings, but they have not been of any avail to us and if we could tear them off, we would do so.