I would only believe in a god who could dance. And when I saw my devil I found him serious, thorough, profound, and solemn: it was the spirit of gravity—through him all things fall. Not by wrath does one kill but by laughter. Come, let us kill the spirit of gravity!

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.

Solitude makes us tougher towards ourselves and tenderer towards others. In both ways it improves our character.

All philosophy is a form of confession.

Man is the cruelest animal.

one does not only wish to be understood when one writes; one wishes just as surely not to be understood.

A man who has depths in his shame meets his destiny and his delicate decisions upon paths which few ever reach . . .