“I look up to heaven only when I want to sneeze.”

A person who gets angry at his own illness is sure to overcome it.

The past was a dream wasn’t it? And who ever remembers dreams?

What a magnificent body, how I should like to see it on the dissecting table.

Nature creates while destroying, and doesn’t care whether it creates or destroys as long as life isn’t extinguished, as long as death doesn’t lose its rights.

We sit in the mud and reach for the stars.

One may speak about anything on earth with fire, with enthusiasm, with ecstasy, but one only speaks about oneself with avidity.

To desire and expect nothing for oneself and to have profound sympathy for others is genuine holiness.

You may live a long while with some people and be on friendly terms with them and never speak openly with them from your soul.

Death is like a fisherman, who, having caught a fish in his net, leaves it in the water for a time; the fish continues to swim about, but all the while the net is round it, and the fisherman will snatch it out in his own good time.

Each individual is more or less dimly aware of his significance, is aware that he’s something innately superior, something eternal–and lives, is obligated to live, in the moment and for the moment.

Whatever man prays for, he prays for a miracle. Every prayer reduces itself.

There are some moments in life, some feelings; one can only point to them and pass by.

So many memories and so little worth remembering, and in front of me – a long, long road without a goal.

I walked in the meadows of green grieving for my life.

Nothing is worse and more hurtful than a happiness that comes too late.

I only know that I feel tired, antiquated; I feel as though I had been living a long, long time.