Who cares about great marks left behind? We have one life... just one. Our life. We have nothing else.

All of us are mad. If it weren't for the fact that every one of us is slightly abnormal, there wouldn't be any point in giving each person a separate name.

Justice! Custodian of the world! But since the world errs, justice must be custodian of the world's errors.

We cannot bear to regard ourselves simply as playthings of blind chance, we cannot admit to feeling ourselves abandoned.

When I say "I," I mean a thing absolutely unique, not to be confused with any other.

There is no forgiveness in nature.

Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.