Something whose connection with human experience we cannot grasp is bound to be frightening.

Yet there seemed to be some truth in the law of probability, according to which the chance of success is directly proportionate to the number of repetitions.

When I was young, I could bounce back from things like a brand-new rubber ball.

When I look at small things, I think I shall go on living: drops of rain, leather gloves shrunk by being wet... When I look at something too big, I want to die: the Diet Building, or a map of the world.

Many people ask why a writer commits suicide. But I think that people who ask don't know the vanity and the nothingness of writing. I think it is very usual and natural for a writer to commit suicide, because in order to keep on writing he must be a very strong person.

Perhaps the act of writing is necessary when nothing happens.

Without the threat of punishment, there is no joy in flight.