I had to spend my entire childhood in the Altensam dungeon like an inmate doing time for no comprehensible reason, for a crime he can't remember committing, a judicial error probably.

After all, there is nothing but failure.

The art we need is the art of bearing the unbearable.

It would be wrong to refuse to face the fact that everything is fundamentally sick and sad.

Very often we write down a sentence too early, then another too late; what we have to do is write it down at the proper time, otherwise it's lost.

People keep a dog and are ruled by this dog, and even Schopenhauer was ruled in the end not by his head, but by his dog. This fact is more depressing than any other.

You are never truly together with one you love until the person in question is dead and actually inside you.