The existence of the writer is an argument against the existence of the soul, for the soul has obviously taken flight from the real ego, but not improved itself, only become a writer.
I am a retiring, silent, unsociable, and discontent person.
There sat I, a faded being, under faded leaves.
Written kisses never arrive at their destination; the ghosts drink them up along the way.
The notion of the infinite expanse and copiousness of the cosmos is the result of the mixture, carried to the extreme limit, of laborious creation and free self-determination.
The Messiah will come only when he is no longer necessary, he will come only one day after his arrival, he will not come on the last day, but on the last day of all.
Anyone who loves his neighbor within the limits of the world is doing no more and no less injustice than someone who loves himself within the limits of the world.
True undoubting is the teacher’s part, continual undoubting the part of the pupil.
The various forms of despair at the various stations on the road.
The crows maintain that a single crow could destroy the heavens. There is no doubt of that, but it proves nothing against the heavens, for heaven simply means: the impossibility of crows.
Work as joy, inaccessible to the psychologists.
The history of the world, as it is written and handed down by word of mouth, often fails us completely; but man’s intuitive capacity, though it often misleads, does lead, does not ever abandon one.
The Fathers of the Church were not afraid to go out into the desert because they had a richness in their hearts. But we, with richness all around us, are afraid, because the desert is in our hearts.
What is gayer than believing in a household god?
The whole visible world is perhaps nothing more than the rationalization of a man who wants to find peace for a moment.
This noble body, equipped with everything necessary, almost to the point of bursting, also appeared to carry freedom around with it.
The true way goes over a line that, rather than spanning heights, is hardly above the ground. It appears more decidedly to make one trip than to be walked along.
We live in an age which is so possessed by demons, that soon we shall only be able to do goodness and justice in the deepest secrecy, as if it were a crime.
Either the world is so tiny or we are enormous; in either case, we fill it completely.
In me, by myself, without human relationship, there are no visible lies. The limited circle is pure.