Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell.

Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast.

A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. I have a mad impulse to smash something, a warehouse perhaps, or a cathedral, or myself, to committ outrages.

The highest art... sets down its creations and trusts in their magic, without fear of not being understood.

Within us there is someone who knows everything, wills everything, does everything better than we ourselves.

I do want more. I am not content with being happy. I was not made for it. It is not my destiny. My destiny is the opposite.

If man has nothing to eat, fasting is the most intelligent thing he can do. If, for instance, Siddhartha had not learned to fast, he would have had to seek some kind of work today, either with you, or elsewhere, for hunger would have driven him. But as it is, Siddhartha can wait calmly. He is not impatient, he is not in need, he can ward off hunger for a long time and laugh at it. Therefore, fasting is useful, sir.