Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

There is a goal but no way; what we call the way is mere wavering.

It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go.

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.

In one and the same human being there are cognitions that, however utterly dissimilar they are, yet have one and the same object,so that one can only conclude that there are different subjects in one and the same human being.

German is my mother tongue and as such more natural to me, but I consider Czech much more affectionate, which is why your letter removes several uncertainties; I see you more clearly, the movements of your body, your hands, so quick, so resolute, it’s almost like a meeting.