If you come to a fork in the road, take it.
My heaviness comes from the heights.
You think you are killing me. I think you are committing suicide.
He who holds me by a thread is not strong; the thread is strong.
They have stopped deceiving you, not loving you. And it seems to you that they have stopped loving you.
I would go to heaven, but I would take my hell; I would not go alone.
He who does not fill his world with phantoms remains alone.
Psychoanalysis and Zen, in my private psychic geometry, are equal to nicotine. They are anti-existential. Nicotine quarantines one out of existence.
Our dream dashes itself against the great mystery like a wasp against a window pane. Less merciful than man, God never opens the window.
But perhaps the universe is suspended on the tooth of some monster.