I avoid literature whenever possible, because whenever possible I avoid myself.

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

Women were like rivers, their banks were unreachable, the night often rang with the cries of the drowned.

We publish only to satisfy out craving for fame; there's no other motive except the even baser one of making money.

All my life I have had the utmost admiration for suicides. I have always considered them superior to me in every way.

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.

...we ask: Why suicide? We search for reasons, causes, and so on.... We follow the course of the life he has now so suddenly terminated as far back as we can. For days we are preoccupied with the question: Why suicide? We recollect details. And yet we must say that everything in the suicide's life- for now we know that all his life he was a suicide, led a suicide's existence- is part of the cause, the reason, for his suicide.