Paths are made by walking
Maybe innocence makes its way easiest through the elemental chaos of this world.
Life is merely terrible; I feel it as few others do. Often — and in my inmost self perhaps all the time — I doubt whether I am a human being.
Nothing, you know, gives the body greater satisfaction than ordering people about, or at least believing in one's ability to do so.
No one can crave what truly harms him.
We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.