One cannot apologize for something fundamental, and a child feels and knows this as well and as deeply as any sage.

The tree does not die, it waits.

To recognize causes is to think, and through thought alone feelings become knowledge and are not lost, but become real and begin to mature.

Therefore, I see whatever exists as good, death is to me like life, sin like holiness, wisdom like foolishness, everything has to be as it is, everything only requires my consent, only my willingness, my loving agreement, to be good for me, to do nothing but work for my benefit, to be unable to ever harm me.

Love is like death. It is fulfillment and an evening after which nothing more may follow.

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.

All men of goodwill have this in common - that our works put us to shame.