We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.

Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.

The end of a life is always vivifying.

Let us do something, while we have the chance! ... Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us!

As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.

I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come.

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