When you live alone you no longer know what it is to tell a story: the plausible disappears at the same time as the friends. You let events flow by too: you suddenly see people appear who speak and then go away; you plunge into stories of which you can't make head or tail: you'd make a terrible witness.

This [service to oppressed] is the writer's task, and, if he fulfills it as he should, he acquires no merit from it.

As long as the writer cannot write for the two billion men who are hungry, he will be oppressed by a feeling of malaise.

Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.

I suppose it is out of laziness that the world is the same day after day. Today it seemed to want to change. And then anything, anything could happen.

I tell you in truth: all men are Prophets or else God does not exist.

We will not go to Heaven,Goetz, and even if we both entered it, we would not have eyes to see each other, nor hands to touch each other. Up there, God gets all the attention.... We can only love on this earth and against God.