I am touched by your beautiful anxiety about life.

What is needed is, in the end, simply this: solitude, great inner solitude.

It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.

The only journey is the one within.

A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.

Whoever you are: in the evening step out of your room, where you know everything; yours is the last house before the far-off: whoever you are. With your eyes, which in their weariness barely free themselves from the worn-out threshold, you lift very slowly one black tree and place it against the sky: slender, alone. And you have made the world. And it is huge and like a word which grows ripe in silence. And as your will seizes on its meaning, tenderly your eyes let it go.

I am too alone in the world and not alone enough to make every moment holy.