Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them.

I have given a name to my pain, and call it "dog".

What then in the last resort are the truths of mankind? They are the irrefutable errors of mankind.

God is Dead; but given the way of men, there may still be caves for thousands of years in which his shadow will be shown. And we - we still have to vanquish his shadow, too.

Truth is the kind of error without which a certain species of life could not live. The value for life is ultimately decisive.

There is always a certain noise in applause: even in the applause we give ourselves.

Every step forward is made at the cost of mental and physical pain to someone.