In the struggle between yourself and the world second the world.

My job is unbearable to me because it conflicts with my only desire and my only calling, which is literature. Since I am nothing but literature and can and want to be nothing else, my job will never take possession of me, it may, however, shatter me completely, and this is by no means a remote possibility.

Written kisses never arrive at their destination; the ghosts drink them up along the way.

Association with human beings lures one into self-observation.

A first sign of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.

When one has once accepted and absorbed Evil, it no longer demands to be believed.

A picture of my existence... would show a useless wooden stake covered in snow... stuck loosely at a slant in the ground in a ploughed field on the edge of a vast open plain on a dark winter night.