He saw merchants trading, princes hunting, mourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians trying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for seeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children—and all of this was not worthy of one look from his eye, it all lied, it all stank, it all stank of lies, it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and beautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted bitter. Life was torture

A magic dwells in each beginning, protecting us, telling us how to live.

Everything becomes a little different as soon as it is spoken out loud.

Happiness is love, nothing else.

Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.

To study history means submitting to chaos and nevertheless retaining faith in order and meaning.

I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.