I wanted to escape the unrest, to shut out the voices around me and within me, so I write.

I usually solve problems by letting them devour me.

Torment yourself as little as possible, then you'll torment me less.

Maybe innocence makes its way easiest through the elemental chaos of this world.

Writing is a sweet, wonderful reward.

The truth is always an abyss. One must — as in a swimming pool — dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again — laughing and fighting for breath — to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.

Nothing, you know, gives the body greater satisfaction than ordering people about, or at least believing in one's ability to do so.