The fact would seem to be, if in my situation one may speak of facts, not only that I shall have to speak of things of which I cannot speak, but also, which is even more interesting, but also that I, which is if possible even more interesting, that I shall have to, I forget, no matter. And at the same time I am obliged to speak. I shall never be silent. Never.

What is that unforgettable line?

It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.

For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on.

How hideous is the semicolon.

Do we mean love, when we say love?

Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.