The Truth Is Always An Abyss.

The Tremendous World I Have Inside My Head. But How Free Myself And Free It Without Being Torn To Pieces. And A Thousand Times Rather Be Torn To Pieces Than Retain It In Me Or Bury It. That, Indeed, Is Why I Am Here, That Is Quite Clear To Me.

All I Am Is Literature, And I Am Not Able Or Willing To Be Anything Else.

He Who Does Not Answer The Questions Has Passed The Test.

There Are Times When I Am Convinced I Am Unfit For Any Human Relationship.

How Pathetically Scanty My Self-knowledge Is Compared With, Say, My Knowledge Of My Room. There Is No Such Thing As Observation Of The Inner World, As There Is Of The Outer World.