But what if all the tranquility, all the comfort, all the contentment were now to come to a horrifying end?

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

I made the remark that I don't avoid people in order to live quietly, but rather in order to be able to die quietly.

Only our concept of time makes it possible for us to speak of the Day of Judgment by that name in reality it is a summary court in perpetual session.

There sat I, a faded being, under faded leaves.

Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects.

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