Anything can become excusable when seen from the standpoint of the result

I am one who has always been interested only in the edges of the body and the spirit, the outlying regions of the body and the outlying regions of the spirit. The depths hold no interest for me; I leave them to others, for they are shallow, commonplace. What is there, then, at the outer most edge? Nothing, perhaps, save a few ribbons, dangling down into the void.

Is there not a sort of remorse that precedes sin? Was it remorse at the very fact that I existed?

We had stretched out our arms to each other and supported something in our joined hands, but this thing we were holding was like a sort of gas that exists when you believe in its existence and disappears when you doubt. The task of supporting it seems simple at first glance, but actually requires an ultimate refinement of calculation and a consummate skill.

Quite possibly, what I call happiness may coincide with what others call the moment of imminent danger

Living is merely the chaos of existence.

For an artist to do creative work, he needs at once physical health and some physiomental ill health. He needs both serenity and gloom.