My life was sweeter than other people's and my death will be more terrible by the same degree.

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.

Love is a drama of contradictions.

The history of the world, as it is written and handed down by word of mouth, often fails us completely; but man's intuitive capacity, though it often misleads, does lead, does not ever abandon one.

So eager are our people to obliterate the present.

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

Writers speak stench.