I do not feel that I am the product of chance, a speck of dust in the universe, but someone who was expected, prepared, prefigured. In short, a being whom only a Creator could put here; and this idea of a creating hand refers to God.

I do not believe in God; his existence has been disproved by Science. But in the concentration camp, I learned to believe in men.

Better a good journalist than a poor assassin.

it was odd, he thought, that a man could hate himself as though he were someone else.

Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.

The more one is absorbed in fighting evil, the less one is tempted to place the good in question.

This desire [to write] is rather strange all the same and is not without a certain "cracked" quality.