Sentimentality - that's what we call the sentiment we don't share.

The world doesn't make any heroes anymore.

With Your great schemes, You ruin our happiness like a harvester ruins a mouse's nest: I hate You, God, I hate You as though You existed.

To comfort me is like the wrong memory at the wrong place or time: if one is lonely one prefers discomfort.

Human nature is not black and white but black and grey.

We are all of us resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.

Pain is easy to write. In pain we're all happily individual. But what can one write about happiness?