Something magical has happened to me: like a dream when one feels frightened and creepy, and suddenly wakes up to the knowledge that no such terrors exist. I have wakened up.

What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.

Anna smiled,as people smile at the weaknesses of those they love. . .

One ought only to write when one leaves a piece of one's own flesh in the inkpot, each time one dips one's pen.

He sought his former accustomed fear of death and did not find it. "Where is it? What death?" There was no fear because there was no death. In place of death there was light.

He had heard that women often love plain ordinary men, but he did not believe it, because he judged by himself and he could only love beautiful mysterious exceptional women.

God cannot be understood by logical reasoning but only by submission.