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A person who speaks like a book is exceedingly boring to listen to; sometimes, however, it is not inappropriate to talk in that way. For a book has th...more

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It is comic that a mentally disordered man picks up any piece of granite and carries it around because he thinks it is money, and in the same way it i...more

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How dreadful boredom is — how dreadfully boring; I know no stronger expression, no truer one, for like is recognized only by like… I lie prostrate, in...more

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Boredom is the root of all evil. It is very curious that boredom, which itself has such a calm and sedate nature, can have such a capacity to initiate...more

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So now begins the first war with Cordelia' in which I retreat and thereby teach her to be victorious as she pursues me. I continually fall back, and i...more

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What am I? The modest narrator who accompanies your triumphs; the dancer who supports you when you rise in your lovely grace; the branch upon which yo...more

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My love consumes me. Only my voice is left, a voice which has fallen in love with you whispers to you everywhere that I love you. Oh! Does it weary yo...more

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Love is everything. So, for one who loves, everything has ceased to have meaning in itself and only means something through the interpretation love gi...more

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I am poor—you are my riches; dark—you are my light; I own nothing, need nothing. And how could I own anything? After all, it is a contradiction that h...more

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If I could forget you! Is my love then a work of memory? Even if time expunged everything from its tablets, expunged even memory itself, my relation t...more

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I am poor—you are my riches; dark—you are my light; I own nothing, need nothing. And how could I own anything? After all, it is a contradiction that h...more

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How far removed in time must an event be for us to remember it? How far for memory's longing to be no longer able to seize it? Most people have a limi...more

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For love is exultant when it unites equals, but it is triumphant when it makes that which was unequal equal in love.

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I have a secret to confide to you, my confidante. Who should I confide it to? To Echo? She would betray it. To the stars? They are cold. People? They ...more

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What am I? The modest narrator who accompanies your triumphs; the dancer who supports you when you rise in your lovely grace; the branch upon which yo...more