It is only in our decisions that we are important.

This is the basis for the joy of love when there is joy; we feel that our existence is justified.

I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my mouth. I swallow. It slides down my throat, it caresses me — and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.

Existence is an imperfection.

I confused things with their names: that is belief.

It is certain that we cannot escape anguish, for we are anguish.

With a little luck that epoch may arrive. I am on the side of those who think that things will go better when the world has changed.