I'm afraid love is just a word.

All human beings were of course unique, and they only discovered that when someone else fell in love with them or when no one ever fell in love with them.

In a world full of war, famine, oppression, deceit, monotony, what—apart from the eternal innocence of animals—offers an image of hope? A mother with a newborn child in her arms? The child may end up as a murderer or a murder victim, so that the hopeful image is a prefiguration of a pietà: a mother with her newly dead child on her lap.

All cows were like other cows, all tigers like all other tigers - What on earth happened to human beings?

I never understood how anyone could feel small compared with the universe. After all, man knows how overwhelmingly large it is, and a few others things besides, and that means he is not small. The fact that man has discovered all this precisely proves his greatness.

That question is too good to spoil with an answer.

But nothing exists in the future; it is empty; one might die at any minute.