Some books seem like a key to unfamiliar rooms in one’s own castle.

This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.

A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.

There has never been a time in which I have been convinced from within myself that I am alive. You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel they were once real and are now fleeting away. I have a constant longing, my dear sir, to catch a glimpse of things as they may have been before they show themselves to me.

Always first draw fresh breath after outbursts of vanity and complacency.

Heaven is dumb, echoing only the dumb.

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