So eager are our people to obliterate the present.

It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves.

The dream reveals the reality which conception lags behind. That is the horror of life-the terror of art.

My grandfather used to say: Life is astoundingly short. To me, looking back over it, life seems so foreshortened that I scarcely understand, for instance, how a young man can decide to ride over to the next village without being afraid that -not to mention accidents- even the span of a normal happy life may fall far short of the time needed for such a journey.

Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty.

All language is but a poor translation.

I want in fact more of you. In my mind I am dressing you with light; I am wrapping you up in blankets of complete acceptance and then I give myself to you. I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.