This morning, for the first time in a long time, the joy again of imagining a knife twisted in my heart.
We were expelled from Paradise, but it was not destroyed. The expulsion from Paradise was in one sense a piece of good fortune, for if we had not been expelled, Paradise would have had to be destroyed.
If I shall exist eternally, how shall I exist tomorrow?
I won't give up the diary again. I must hold on here, it is the only place I can.
I do not see the world at all; I invent it.
We all have wings, but they have not been of any avail to us and if we could tear them off, we would do so.