I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.
I can love only what I can place so high above me that I cannot reach it.
You can choose to be free , but it's last decision you'll ever make
What am I doing here in this endless winter?
No matter how much you keep encouraging someone who is blindfolded to stare through the cloth, he still won’t see a thing.".
I lack nothing. I only needed myself.
I have the true feeling of myself only when I am unbearably unhappy.
I never wish to be easily defined.
There are only two things. Truth and lies. Truth is indivisible, hence it cannot recognize itself; anyone who wants to recognize it has to be a lie.
The meaning of life is that it stops.
I am in chains. Don't touch my chains.
They say ignorance is bliss.... they're wrong
Being alone has a power over me that never fails. My interior dissolves (for the time being only superficially) and is ready to release what lies deeper. When I am willfully alone, a slight ordering of my interior begins to take place and I need nothing more.
A first sign of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.
I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
If you become involved with me, you will be throwing yourself into the abyss.
Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself.
Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.
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.
Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.
From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.
We need the books that affect us like a disaster
Simply wait, be quiet, still The world will freely offer itself to you.
You are so vulnerably haunting. Your eeriness is terrifyingly irresistible.
I wanted to escape the unrest, to shut out the voices around me and within me, so I write.
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