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

there is nothing bad to fear; once you have crossed that threshold, all is well. Another world, and you do not have to speak

This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.

In Paradise, as always: that which causes the sin and that which recognizes it for what it is are one. The clear conscience is Evil, which is so entirely victorious that it does not any longer consider the leap from left to right necessary.

Art flies around truth, but with the definite intention of not getting burnt. Its capacity lies in finding in the dark void a place where the beam of light can be intensely caught, without this having been perceptible before.

Just because your doctor has a name for your condition, doesn't mean he knows what it is.

Faith, like a guillotine. As heavy, as light.