Man reckons with immortality, and forgets to reckon with death.

Through the air floated only important words, and Flajsman said to himself that love has but one true measure, and that is death. At the end of true love is death, and only the love that ends in death is love.

nothing yet. I've been waiting." "for what?" she made no response. she could not tell him that she had been waiting for him.

Since the insignificance of all things is our lot, we should not bear it as an affliction but learn to enjoy it.

The young man called the waiter and paid. Then he got up and said to the girl: 'We're going.' Where to?' The girl feigned surprise. Don't ask, just come on,' said the young man. Is that any way to talk to me?' It's the way I talk to whores.

For a novelist, a given historic situation is an anthropologic laboratory in which he explores his basic question: What is human existence?

Is a novel anything but a trap set for a hero?