The only thing you must never speak of is your happiness.

Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.

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.

Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.

The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.

The essential doesn't change.

Where you have nothing, there you should want nothing.