My grandfather used to say: Life is astoundingly short. To me, looking back over it, life seems so foreshortened that I scarcely understand, for instance, how a young man can decide to ride over to the next village without being afraid that -not to mention accidents- even the span of a normal happy life may fall far short of the time needed for such a journey.

My doubts stand in a circle around every word, I see them before I see the word, but what then! I do not see the word at all, I invent it.

Don Quixote's misfortune is not his imagination, but Sancho Panza.

If this is what you came for, then I didn't send for you. Kafka (note to himself in journal)

I am on the hunt for constructions. I come into a room and find them whitely merging in a corner.

There is a down-and-outness under true knowledge and a childlike happy arising from it.

My 'fear' is my substance, and probably the best part of me.