If literature isn't everything, it's not worth a single hour of someone's trouble.

People who live in society have learnt how to see themselves, in mirrors, as they appear to their friends. I have no friends: is that why my flesh is so naked?

The recent experiences of pocketbooks prove this. I have changed my public since my works have been published in a smaller format.

Don't you feel the same way? When I cannot see myself, even though I touch myself, I wonder if I really exist.

Everything has been figured out, except how to live.

Good digestions, the gray monotony of provincial life, and the boredom-ah the soul-destroying boredom-of long days of mild content.

A man is involved in life, leaves his impress on it, and outside of that there is nothing.