Great mysteries inhabit the threshold of my being.
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I'll be living quietly in a house somewhere in the suburbs, enjoying a peaceful existence not writing the book I'm not writing now and, so as to conti...
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I’ve witnessed, incognito, the gradual collapse of my life, the slow foundering of all I wanted to be. I can say, with a truth that needs no flowers t...
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Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me!
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At the end of this day there remains what remained yesterday and what will remain tomorrow: the insatiable, unquantifiable longing to be both the same...
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From so much self-revising, I’ve destroyed myself. From so much self-thinking, I’m now my thoughts and not I
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Is it that my habit of placing myself in the souls of other people makes me see myself as others see or would see me if they noticed my presence there...
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My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I he...
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Our problem isn't that we're individualists. It's that our individualism is static rather than dynamic. We value what we think rather than what we do....
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Time, which grays hair and wrinkles faces, also withers violent affections, and much more quickly.
