Book: Diaries. Page 5

What is good for ourselves, for the others.

A person who has achieved anything worthwhile in the small, so strained to stretch his talent on a long novel that becomes sick, even if you do not forget to admire the energy with which raped their own talent.

I can't resist, can't resist not to admire the admirable, and not love, while admiration is exhausted.

This morning for the first time after a long break again joy at the idea of turning in my heart the knife.

This afternoon, the pain of my loneliness was upon me so piercingly and cool that I noted: in this way wasted the strength I gain through the Scripture, and which was intended by me, at least, not for this.

I live here as if sure that I will live a second time.

It is a good test of a measure of unhappiness is to give a person to cope with them alone.

When a certain degree of self-knowledge and other conducive to monitoring a conditions inevitably will from time to time seem a horrible.

Between this sense and it is laid as a Board, background, devoid of any ties.

In transition periods - and this for me was last week and the present moment too - I'm often sad covers, but the quiet surprise of his own insensitivity. I am separated from all things, empty space, across borders of which do not even aim to get.

I was wise, if anyone, because at any moment he was ready to die, but not because he fulfilled all assigned to me, but because none of these things did not and could not even hope ever to do a part of it.

It should be easy to understand themselves, not to jump to conclusions, to live as becometh, not to chase, like a dog for its own tail.

One comforting another, in the hope that the consolation it will have the opposite effect on him, or passionately revels in this reverse action.

I find the pettiness, indecision, envy and hatred of fighting, which I longed for all ills.