Every word first looks around in every direction before letting itself be written down by me.

I want in fact more of you. In my mind I am dressing you with light; I am wrapping you up in blankets of complete acceptance and then I give myself to you. I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.

I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?

From outside one will always triumphantly impress theories upon the world and then fall straight into the ditch one has dug, but only from inside will one keep oneself and the world quiet and true.

I have spent my life resisting the desire to end it.

In me, by myself, without human relationship, there are no visible lies. The limited circle is pure.

Martyrs do not underrate the body, they allow it to be elevated on the cross. In this they are at one with their antagonists.