2 November. This morning, for the first time in a long time, the joy again of imagining a knife twisted in my heart. - Franz Kafka

Our winters are very long here, very long and very monotonous. But we don't complain about it downstairs, we're shielded against the winter. Oh, spring does come eventually, and summer, and they last for a while, but now, looking back, spring and summer seem too short, as if they were not much more than a couple of days, and even on those days, no matter how lovely the day, it still snows occasionally.

By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.

Idleness is the beginning of all vice, the crown of all virtues.