“Among the letters my readers write me, there is a certain category which is cont…” — Hermann Hesse

What constitutes a real, live human being is more of a mystery than ever these days, and men each one of whom is a valuable, unique experiment on the part of nature are shot down wholesale.

What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.

For me, however, that beloved, glowing little word happiness has become associated with everything I have felt since childhood upon hearing the sound of the word itself.

It is not Kafka's fault that his wonderful writings have lately turned into a fad, and are read by people who have neither the ability nor the desire to absorb literature.