“That’s what nature meant us to do, breathe deep when we are stressed.”

I feel like I can control my own body as if I have a thermostat that I can adjust when I need to.

I know my body. I know my mind. I know what I can do.

When there is no oxygen the muscles become acidic and we can’t perform any more.

Nature is so merciless – but so righteous.

Breathing and using cold, through cold showers and experiences, provides a boost of performance compared to anything that would be possible if the person had not done that.

Love is my mission.

As one can solve maths by concentrating do I focus on certain places in my body and generate heat because of it.

For me, God is cold.

Men need to laugh more.

I found by deeper breathing, going into the cold, thinking about it, dealing with it; getting the conviction that my ability to breathe deeper is making connections with my body.

With work and life, your true depth can become an alien thing to you. Your gut feelings, your instincts become buried.

I want to show everyone in this world that the soul is the source of our happiness, strength and health. Love actually comes from the soul, from the light.

I want people to find their inner depth.

Cold water is merciless, but righteous.

It’s a great honour to have the nickname of Iceman, it makes me feel very proud of my achievements.

I fear not living fully.

What one does in one’s art, that is the breath of one’s being. What one does in one’s life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.

I never go to funerals. To me a person is dead when he breathes for the last time. After that, your memories should be personal.

Success is my breathing space. I brought it on myself. I will price it, I will cash it, I can take it or leave it. Loneliness is my hiding place, breastfeeding myself. What more can I say? I have swallowed the bitter pill, I can taste it. Life is real.

Do friends really long to breathe the air of the other?

The last time I felt alive – I was looking into your eyes. Breathing your air, touching your skin, saying goodbye. The last time I felt alive, I was dying.

Makes you wonder. When I left St. Louis, I was making five dollars a night. Now I’m getting $5,000 a week — for saying the same things out loud I used to say under my breath.

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.

I’m drowning. And the air is nowhere to be found. Yet I pretend to breathe anyway.