“I’m thinking only of my illness and my health, though both, the first as well as the second, are you.”

You can hold yourself back from the sufferings of the world, that is something you are free to do and it accords with your nature, but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could avoid.

I am always trying to convey something that can’t be conveyed, to explain something which is inexplicable, to tell about something I have in my bones, something which can be expressed only in the bones.

I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more

The meaning of life is that it stops.

Forget everything. Open the windows. Clear the room. The wind blows through it. You see only its emptiness, you search in every corner and don’t find yourself.

In man’s struggle against the world, bet on the world.

They’re talking about things of which they don’t have the slightest understanding, anyway. It’s only because of their stupidity that they’re able to be so sure of themselves.

What am I doing here in this endless winter?

I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.

First impressions are always unreliable.

I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.

Books are a narcotic.

All I am is literature, and I am not able or willing to be anything else.

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.

My guiding principle is this: Guilt is never to be doubted.

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart; imagine my heartbeat when you are in this state.