We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
What do we do now, now that we are happy?
To have been always what I am – and so changed from what I was.
What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?
Our vulgar perception is not concerned with other than vulgar phenomena.
What was God doing with himself before the creation?
What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
God is love. Yes or no? No.
The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.
I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?
All has not been said and never will be.
When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a circle, I did my best to go in a circle, hoping to go in a straight line.
But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!
Imagination at wit’s end spreads its sad wings.
There’s never an end for the sea.
Adulterers, take warning, never admit.
Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.
As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.
Ah, the old questions, the old answers, there’s nothing like them!
There is no escape from yesterday because yesterday has deformed us, or been deformed by us. The mood is of no importance. Deformation has taken place.