Not everyone can see the truth, but he can be it.

There sat I, a faded being, under faded leaves.

Nervous states of the worst sort control me without pause. Everything that is not literature bores me and I hate it. I lack all aptitude for family life except, at best, as an observer. I have no family feeling and visitors make me almost feel as though I were maliciously being attacked.

Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.

Every one of us has a bad conscience, which he tries to escape by going to sleep as quickly as possible.

They're talking about things of which they don't have the slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves.

The cruelty of death lies in the fact that it brings the real sorrow of the end, but not the end. The greatest cruelty of death: an apparent end causes a real sorrow. Our salvation is death, but not this one.