Even the loveliest dream bears like a blemish its difference from reality, the awareness that what it grants is mere illusion.

Truth is inseperable from the illusory belief that from the figures of the unreal one day, in spite of all, real deliverance will come.

The almost insoluble task is to let neither the power of others, nor our own powerlessness, stupefy us.

Very evil people cannot really be imagined dying.

Because thought has by now been perverted into the solving of assigned problems, even what is not assigned is processed like a problem.

Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.

Thinking no longer means anymore than checking at each moment whether one can indeed think.