The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.

I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.

I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.

Yes, there is no denying it, any longer, it is not you who are dead, but all the others. So you get up and go to your mother, who thinks she is alive. That's my impression. But now I shall have to get myself out of this ditch. How joyfully I would vanish here, sinking deeper and deeper under the rains.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm in my right mind. Then it passes off and I'm as intelligent as ever.

I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.

What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!