What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.

For what I always hated and detested and cursed above all things was this contentment, this healthiness and comfort, this carefully preserved optimism of the middle classes, this fat and prosperous brood of mediocrity.

You are willing to die, you coward, but not to live.

I cannot tell my story without reaching a long way back.

Gratitude is not a virtue I believe in, and to me it seems hypocritical to expect it from a child.

For me, however, that beloved, glowing little word happiness has become associated with everything I have felt since childhood upon hearing the sound of the word itself.

So you can't dance? Not at all? Not even one step? How can you say that you've taken any trouble to live when you won't even dance?