do I then belong to the heavens? why, if not so, should the heavens fix me thus with their ceaseless blue stare

although the goal could never have been love, nor, had it been, could I ever have belonged to the heavens?

thus in a single phrase, I can define the great illusion concerning “love” in this world. it is the effort to join reality with the apparition.

I believed optimistically that once the performance was finished the curtain would fall and the audience would never see the actor without his make — up.

music giving such religious, tranquil pleasure that it could only be called sacred, filled with the solemnity and longing found in the patterns of stately wall tapestries.

suddenly there came into view from one corner of the next page a picture that I had to believe had been lying in wait there for me, for my sake.

that to fall, not to fly, is in the order of things, more natural by far than improbable passion? is the blue of the sky then a dream?

both you and I have a strong sense of aesthetics / when you look in the mirror, you see beauty / I can‘t even look at myself

my inherent deficiency of blood had first implanted in me the impulse to dream of bloodshed. And in its turn that impulse had caused me to lose more and more of the stuff of blood from my body, thereby further increasing my lust for blood.

I have not envied the bird its freedom, nor have I longed for the ease of nature.

and the trap into which a deformed person finally falls does not lie in his resolving the state of antagonism between himself and the world, but instead takes the form of his completely approving of this antagonism.

what was the basis of this creature’s existence? was the basis within me?

the man who later in his life is to be executed is constantly drawing an image in his mind of the execution site, and is becoming familiar with that image.

knowledge is the sea of humanity, the field of humanity, the general condition of human existence.

this revelation of human dullness stirred dark depression in me.

they could be their natural selves, whereas I was to play a part, a fact that would require considerable understanding and study. so it was not my maturity but my sense of uneasiness, my uncertainty, that was forcing me to gain control over my

the special quality of hell is to see everything clearly down to the last detail.

just as before, I kept this new feeling hidden in my heart, but to my love for the savage there had now been added a love for the graceful and gentle.

the beauty that you love so much —— is an illusion of the remaining part, the excessive part, which has been consigned to knowledge. it is an illusion of the “other way to bear life” which you mentioned. one could say that in fact there is no

they could be their natural selves, whereas I was to play a part, a fact that would require considerable understanding and study. so it was not my maturity but my sense of uneasiness, my uncertainty, that was forcing me to gain control over my

until then I had mistakenly thought I was only poetically attracted to such things, thus confusing the nature of my sensual desires with a system of aesthetics.

father’s face was buried in early summer flowers. there was something gruesome about the utter freshness of those flowers.

the cynicism that regards hero worship as comical is always shadowed by a sense of physical inferiority.

granting no space to think or feel, why did the soft, indolent earth thus greet me with the shock of a steel plate? did the soft earth turn to steel only to show me my own softness? that nature might bring home to me

I believed optimistically that once the performance was finished the curtain would fall and the audience would never see the actor without his make — up.

he was fully aware that beauty is a thing which must sleep and which, in sleeping, must be protected by knowledge.

the special quality of hell is to see everything clearly down to the last detail.

I believed optimistically that once the performance was finished the curtain would fall and the audience would never see the actor without his make — up.

since the moment for the curtain to fall was not so far distant, it might have been expected that I would enact with all the more diligence the masquerade I had devised for myself.

it is no exaggeration to say that the first real problem I faced in my life was that of beauty.

I can‘t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.

that to fall, not to fly, is in the order of things, more natural by far than improbable passion? is the blue of the sky then a dream?

unable as I was to feel the least particle of confidence in my ability to speak and act like a human being, I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast. I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be left exposed.

the fact of not being understood by others had been my sole source of pride since my early youth, and I had not the slightest impulse to express myself in such a way that I might be understood. when I did try to clarify my thoughts and actions, I

both you and I have a strong sense of aesthetics / when you look in the mirror, you see beauty / I can‘t even look at myself

anything can become excusable when seen from the standpoint of a result.

his muscular arms, the arms of a praetorian guard accustomed to bending of bow and wielding of sword, are raised at a graceful angle, and his bound wrists are crossed directly over his head.

beauty is never a consolation.

his was not a fate to be pitied. in no way was it a pitiable fate. rather was it proud and tragic, a fate that might even be called shining.

what was it I understood at that moment, or was on the verge of understanding? did the motif of later years —— that of " remorse as prelude to sin " —— show here the first hint of its beginning? or was the moment teaching me how grotesque my

" but I've made up my mind. " " you say that because you don't realize what it means. but then the day for volunteering has already passed. so there's nothing to do about it now. it's your destiny. “

my organs spilled from the cavity of my chest in a grotesque sense of love.

did the soft earth turn to steel only to show me my own softness?

I hope you'll remember my name. in a day or two I'll become famous.

in doing so I had obviously arrived unwittingly at nothing more than a belief in the platonic concept of love.

both you and I have a strong sense of aesthetics / when you look in the mirror, you see beauty / I can‘t even look at myself

other people must be destroyed. in order that I might truly face the sun, the world itself must be destroyed.

is he really a samurai? in his own mind, anyway.

or rather: it was the books that looked at you, with the bewildered gaze of dogs, who from their cages in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of his master, come to rescue him.

only knowledge can turn life’s unbearableness into a weapon.