You are treading the path to your greatness: no one shall follow you here! Your passage has effaced the path behind you, and above that path stands written: Impossibility.

Style ought to prove that one believes in an idea; not only that one thinks it but also feels it.

Death. The certain prospect of death could sweeten every life with a precious and fragrant drop of levity- and now you strange apothecary souls have turned it into an ill-tasting drop of poison that makes the whole of life repulsive.

Whoever writes in blood and aphorisms wants not to be learned but to be learned by heart.

When one has finished building one's house, one suddenly realizes that in the process one has learned something that one really needed to know in the worst way - before one began.

How lovely it is that there are words and sounds. Are not words and sounds rainbows and illusive bridges between things which are eternally apart?

The life of the enemy . Whoever lives for the sake of combating an enemy has an interest in the enemy's staying alive.