Knowledge we have. Anyone who strives for it with particular intensity is suspect of striving against it.

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

The Messiah will only come when he is no longer needed.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

How can one take delight in the world unless one flees to it for refuge?

This noble body, equipped with everything necessary, almost to the point of bursting, also appeared to carry freedom around with it.

And I leave my post of observation and find I have had enough of this outside life; I feel that there is nothing more that I can learn here, either now or at any time. And I long to say a last goodbye to everything up here, to go down into my burrow never to return again, let things take their course, and not try to retard them with my profitless vigils.