I have no memory for things I have learned, nor things I have read, nor things experienced or heard, neither for people nor events; I feel that I have experienced nothing, learned nothing, that I actually know less than the average schoolboy, and that what I do know is superficial, and that every second question is beyond me. I am incapable of thinking deliberately; my thoughts run into a wall. I can grasp the essence of things in isolation, but I am quite incapable of coherent, unbroken thinking. I can't even tell a story properly; in fact, I can scarcely talk.

"Don't you want to join us?" I was recently asked by an acquaintance when he ran across me alone after midnight in a coffeehouse that was already almost deserted. "No, I don't," I said.

What do I have in common with Jews? I don't even have anything in common with myself.

The purpose of a story is to be an axe that breaks up the ice within us.

Not everyone can see the truth, but he can be it.

The ulterior motives with which you absorb and assimilate Evil are not your own but those of Evil.

In man's struggle against the world, bet on the world.