From outside one will always triumphantly impress theories upon the world and then fall straight into the ditch one has dug, but only from inside will one keep oneself and the world quiet and true.

In the fight between you and the world, back the world.

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.

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

Books are a narcotic.

People label themselves with all sorts of adjectives. I can only pronounce myself as 'nauseatingly miserable beyond repair'.

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