I don't see why it's impossible to express everything that's on one's mind.

I only know that I feel tired, antiquated; I feel as though I had been living a long, long time.

What's terrible is that there's nothing terrible, that the very essence of life is petty, uninteresting, and degradingly trite.

I was as happy as a fish in water, and I could have stayed in that room for ever, have never left that place.

Nature cares nothing for logic, our human logic: she has her own, which we do not recognize and do not acknowledge until we are crushed under its wheel

Art, if one employs this term in the broad sense that includes poetry within its realm, is an art of creation laden with ideals, located at the very core of the life of a people, defining the spiritual and moral shape of that life.

Sternly, remorselessly, fate guides each of us; only at the beginning, when we're absorbed in details, in all sorts of nonsense, in ourselves, are we unaware of its harsh hand.