Sometimes I Try My Hand

One Must Also Accept That One Has 'uncreative' Moments. The More Honestly One Can Accept That, The Quicker These Moments Will Pass.

The Fact Is I Don't Lead A Simple Enough Inner Life. I Indulge In Excesses, Bacchanalia Of The Spirit. Perhaps I Identify Too Much With Everything I Read And Study. Someone Like Dostoevsky Still Shatters Me.

Sometimes I Try My Hand At Turning Out Small Profundities And Uncertain Short Stories, But I Always End Up With Just One Single Word: God.

We Should Be Willing To Act As A Balm For All Wounds.

Every Day I Shall Put My Papers In Order And Every Day I Shall Say Farewell. And The Real Farewell, When It Comes, Will Only Be A Small Outward Confirmation Of What Has Been Accomplished Within Me From Day To Day.