The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

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

Fail, fail again, fail better.

Birth was the death of him.

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

To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.