. . . The books we need are the kind that act upon us like a misfortune, that make us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide, or lost in a forest remote from all human habitation-a book should serve as an axe for the frozen sea within us.

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

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

For words are magical formulae. They leave finger marks be hind on the brain, which in the twinkling of an eye become the footprints of history. One ought to watch one' s every word.

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.

The man in ecstasy and the man drowning: both raise their arms.

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.