Sorrento, August. For two weeks now I haven't heard a German word or understood an Italian one. This way one can manage to live with people; everything goes like clockwork and no irksome misunderstanding can arise.

I don't like to meddle in my private affairs.

Most people are sick. But only a few know that this is something they can be proud of. These are the psychoanalysts.

Imagination has the right to feast in the shade of the tree that it turns into a forest.

Sentimental irony is a dog that bays at the moon while pissing on graves.

Jealousy is a dog's bark which attracts thieves.

Contemporaries live from second hand to mouth.