This morning, for the first time in a long time, the joy again of imagining a knife twisted in my heart.

The various forms of despair at the various stations on the road.

Hiding places there are innumerable, escape is only one, but possibilities of escape, again, are as many as hiding places.

They're talking about things of which they don't have the slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves.

It's impossible to defend oneself in the absence of goodwill

The notion of the infinite expanse and copiousness of the cosmos is the result of the mixture, carried to the extreme limit, of laborious creation and free self-determination.

Every one of us has a bad conscience, which he tries to escape by going to sleep as quickly as possible.