In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.

Our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves, and of our visible, sensible world.

I must tell you that I should really like to think there's something wrong with me- Because, if there isn't, then there's something wrong with the world itself-and that's much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I'd rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right.

We fight to keep something alive rather than in the expectation that anything will triumph.

There will be time to murder and create.

Hell is oneself, hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone.

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.