Everyone has a moment in history which belongs particularly to him.

Looking back now across fifteen years I could see with great clarity the fear I had lived in, which must mean that in the interval I had succeeded in a very important undertaking: I must have made my escape from it.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

We are all born equally far from the sun.

Everyone has a moment in history which belongs particularly to him.

I began to know that each morning reasserted the problems of night before, that sleep suspended all but changed nothing, that you couldn’t make yourself over between dawn and dusk.

I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.