Who can exhaust a man? Who knows a man's resources?

So it comes to this; one doesn’t need rest. Why bother about sleep if one isn’t sleepy? That stands to reason, doesn’t it? Wait a minute, there’s a snag somewhere; something disagreeable. Why, now, should it be disagreeable? …Ah, I see; it’s life without a break.

Time is too large, it can't be filled up. Everything you plunge into it is stretched and disintegrates.

I considered calmly that I was born to write.

I construct my memories with my present. I am lost, abandoned in the present. I try in vain to rejoin the past: I cannot escape.

I have such a desire to sleep and am so much behind my sleep. A good night, one good night and all this nonsense will be swept away.

I am alone in the midst of these happy, reasonable voices. All these creatures spend their time explaining, realizing happily that they agree with each other. In Heaven's name, why is it so important to think the same things all together.