We cannot withdraw our cards from the game. Were we as silent and mute as stones, our very passivity would be an act.

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.

The form [of literature] matters little to me, classical or not.

The consciousness that says 'I am' is not the consciousness that thinks.

I am alone in this white, garden-rimmed street. Alone and free. But this freedom is rather like death.

My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I'm going to sleep.