All The Decisive Blows Are Struck Left-handed.

Ideas Are To Objects As Constellations Are To Stars [translated From Trauerspiel, 1928].

The Destructive Character Lives From The Feeling, Not That Life Is Worth Living, But That Suicide Is Not Worth The Trouble.

You Follow The Same Paths Of Thought As Before. Only, They Appear Strewn With Roses.

All Disgust Is Originally Disgust At Touching.

For Only That Which We Knew And Practiced At Age 15 Will One Day Constitute Our Attraction. And One Thing, Therefore, Can Never Be Made Good: Having Neglected To Run Away From Home.