The whole world is divided for me into two parts: one is she, and there is all happiness, hope, light; the other is where she is not, and there is dejection and darkness...

All this world of ours is nothing but a speck of mildew which has grown up on a tiny planet.

I think that when you remember, remember, remember everything like that, you could go on until you remember what was there before you were in the world.

One must be cunning and wicked in this world.

Are we not all flung into the world for no other purpose than to hate each other, and so to torture ourselves and one another?