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

I, however, cannot force myself to use "meat drugs" to cheat on my loneliness.

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.

The fact that there is nothing but a spiritual world deprives us of hope and gives us certainty.

At that point I asked myself: How is it that she is not amazed at herself, that she keeps her lips closed and makes no such remark?

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

How pathetically scanty my self-knowledge is compared with, say, my knowledge of my room. There is no such thing as observation of the inner world, as there is of the outer world.