I am as frustrated with society as a pyromaniac in a petrified forest.

The torment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause, is the knowledge that the self is in prison, its vital force and "mangled mind" leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.

It is the awareness of unfulfilled desires which gives a nation the feeling that it has a mission and a destiny.

I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess, when my opponent says of it: That piece cannot be moved.

It is misery, you know, unspeakable misery for the man who lives alone and who detests sordid, casual affairs; not old enough to do without women, but not young enough to be able to go and look for one without shame!