Life's splendor forever lies in wait about each one of us in all its fullness, but veiled from view, deep down, invisible, far off. It is there, though, not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf. If you summon it by the right word, by its right name, it will come.

In the struggle between yourself and the world second the world.

The ulterior motives with which you absorb and assimilate Evil are not your own but those of Evil.

Writing means revealing oneself to excess.

We are sinful not only because we have eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, but also because we have not yet eaten of the Tree of Life. The state in which we are is sinful, irrespective of guilt.

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

What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.