People are always talking about originality, but what do they mean? As soon as we are born, the world begins to work upon us, and this goes on to the end. And, after all, what can we call our own except energy, strength, and will? If I could give an account of all that I owe to great predecessors and contemporaries, there would be but a small balance in my favor.

There is something coldly uniform about the human race. Most of them have to work for the greater part of their lives in order to live and the little freedom they have left frightens them to such an extent that they will stop at nothing to rid themselves of it. Oh, human destiny!

Yet to be misunderstood is the miserable destiny of people like myself.

There is much to be said for the advantage of rules and regulations, much the same things can be said in praise of middle-class society— he who sticks to them will never produce anything that is bad or in poor taste, just as he who lets himself be model by law, order, and prosperity will never become an intolerable neighbor or a striking scoundrel. On the other hand— and people can say what they like— rules and regulations ruin our true appreciation of nature and our powers to express it. Very well, say that I am being too harsh and that rules and regulations merely serve to curb us, cut down the rank vine, etc.

What I said the other day about painting is true also of poetry. It is simply that one should recognize and try to express only what is excellent, and that is saying a great deal in a few words.

Distance is like the future. A vast twilit entity lies before us, our perception is lost in it and becomes blurred as our eyesight, and we yearn, ah, we yearn to surrender all of our Self and let ourselves be filled to the brim with a single, tremendous, magnificent emotion, but alas... when we hurry to the spot, when There becomes Here, everything is as it was before and we are left standing in our poverty and constraint, our souls longing for the balm that has eluded us.

... And then, my good friend, we treat the little creatures, who are our equals, and whom we should use as models, as our inferiors. They are not supposed to have a will of their own. Why not? Don't we demand free will? What gives us the right to make such a decision? Because we are older and wiser?

Dear God in Heaven, Thou dost look down upon old children and young children, and that's all there is to it! And Thy Divine told us long ago which of them pleaseth Thee more. But they believe in Him and bring up their children to be like themselves and... farewell, William! I don't want to ramble on about it. 

"Human nature," I continued, "has its limitations. It can bear joy and suffering, and pain to a certain degree, but perishes when this point is passed. Here there can therefore be no question whether a man is strong or weak, but of whether he can endure his suffering , be it moral or physical. And I find it just as astonishing to say that a man who takes his own life a coward, as it would be improper to call a man a coward who dies of a pernicious fever."

"A man is a man, and the little bit of sense he may have plays little or no part at all when passion rages in him, and the limitations of humankind oppress him. And what is more—but no, we'll talk about it some other time," I concluded and reached for my hat. Oh, my heart was full, and we parted without having understood each other. And that it is how it is in the world. It is not easy for men to understand each other. 

This has taught me that an author can harm his book if he publishes a second, changed version of his story, however improved it may be poetically. The first impression finds the reader willing, and a human being can be persuaded to believe in the most daring adventure, but it takes root immediately, and woe to him who tries to dig it up and eradicate it!

Why does that which makes a man happy have to become the source of his misery?

For plenty of unfinished work lay before me—in fact I had things planned that would take years to complete, even if I applied myself to them ardently. But I had been dragged out of my stillness, out of the twilight and darkness that alone favor the purity of creation, into the noise of daytime, where one loses oneself in others and becomes confused by sympathy as well as coldness, by praise as well as by reproof, for these external encounters never coincide with the present stage of one's inner life. Therefore, since they cannot benefit us, they must do us harm.

If anyone should one day find the tale in print and read it and doubt that it could have such an effect, he should reflect that man is really only qualified to make an impression in the present. Writing is a misuse of language; reading alone quietly is a sad substitute for talk. A man makes every impression he possibly can on others through his personality—the young most powerfully on the young—and that is where the purest effects are achieved. It is the young who enliven the world and don't let it die, either morally or physically. 

I can't tell you how horrified I was suddenly to hear mention of a wedding, for I had always been almost more afraid, of marriage than of music. Those who make music, I used to say, at least enjoy the illusion that they are in unison and that the over-all effect is harmony, because after they have allowed themselves sufficient time to tune up and have massacred our eardrum with all sorts of discordant sounds, they think that now they are in tune and the various instruments are perfectly suited to one another. The conductor himself suffers from this delusion, and they're off, while the listener's ears are screaming! But in marriage, not even this applies, because although it is nothing but a duet, and one would think that it should be possible to bring two voices—that is to say, two instruments—in harmony, still, it rarely happens. For, if the man gives the pitch, the woman usually wants it higher, then the man raises it again; and this goes on and on, from normal pitch to concert pitch, until in the end even the horns can't follow! And, since I couldn't bear harmonic music, you can't blame me for hating discord even more. 

For her beautiful eyes have such an unholy effect that she robs all living things of their strength, and those whom her touching hand does not kill are changed into living, wandering shadows."