The most agonising thing is to drop doubt into a man about his being a reality, three-dimensional - and not some other kind of reality.

But you can't plead with autumn. No. The midnight wind stalked through the woods, hooted to frighten you, swept everything away for the approaching winter, whirled the leaves. ("The North")

You're in a bad way! Apparently, you have developed a soul.

The nights were long, like the braids of a pretty girl, and the days were short, like a girl's sense. ("The North")

True literature can exist only where it is created, not by diligent and trustworthy functionaries, but by madmen, hermits, heretics, dreamers, rebels, and skeptics.

Individual consciousness is just sickness.

Philosophers of genius, children, and the people are equally wise - because they ask equally foolish questions. Foolish to a civilized man who has a well-furnished European apartment with an excellent toilet and a well-furnished dogma.