“I need solitude for my writing; not ‘like a hermit’ – that wouldn’t be enough – but like a dead man.”

What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.

Written kisses don’t reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.

Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.

You misinterpret everything, even the silence.

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.

Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while one lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.

Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.

The truth is always an abyss. One must — as in a swimming pool — dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again — laughing and fighting for breath — to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.

Even if no salvation should come, I want to be worthy of it at every moment.

They say ignorance is bliss, they’re wrong

You can choose to be free , but it’s last decision you’ll ever make

By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.

I am free and that is why I am lost.

I do not read advertisements. I would spend all of my time wanting things.