A man is like a novel: until the very last page you don’t know how it will end. Otherwise it wouldn’t be worth reading.
You are afraid of it because it is stronger than you; you hate it because you are afraid of it; you love it because you cannot subdue it to your will. Only the unsubduable can be loved.
There is no final one; revolutions are infinite.
Happiness without freedom, or freedom without happiness. There was no third alternative.
I looked silently at her lips. All women are lips, all lips. Some are pink and firmly round: a ring, a tender guardrail from the whole world. And then there are these ones: a second ago they weren’t here, and just now – like a knife-slit – they are here, still dripping sweet blood.
Everyone has to go mad, it’s essential fir everyone to go mad – as soon as possible! It’s essential – I know.
Listen.” I tugged at my neighbor. “Just listen to me! You must-you must give me an answer: out there, where your finite universe ends! What is out there, beyond it?