I stick my finger into existence.. it smells of nothing. Where am I? Who am I? What is this thing called the world? What does this word mean?

Genius, like a thunderstorm, comes up against the wind.

I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess, when my opponent says of it: That piece cannot be moved.

In the life of the individual when love awakens it is older than everything else, because when it exists it seems as if it has existed for a long time; it presupposes itself back into the distant past until all searching ends in the inexplicable origin.

I would rather be a swineherd, understood by the swine, than a poet misunderstood by men.

The question is asked in ignorance, by one who does not even know what can have led him to ask it.

In addition to my other numerous acquaintances, I have one more intimate confidant. ... My depression is the most faithful mistress I have known - no wonder, then, that I return the love.