Only Our Concept Of Time Makes It

The Observer Of The Soul Cannot Penetrate Into The Soul, But There Doubtless Is A Margin Where He Comes Into Contact With It. Recognition Of This Contact Is The Fact That Even The Soul Does Not Know Of Itself. Hence It Must Remain Unknown. That Would Be Sad Only If There Were Anything Apart From The Soul, But There Is Nothing Else.

I Am In Chains. Don't Touch My Chains.

How Pathetically Scanty My Self-knowledge Is Compared With, Say, My Knowledge Of My Room. There Is No Such Thing As Observation Of The Inner World, As There Is Of The Outer World.

From A Certain Point Onward There Is No Longer Any Turning Back. That Is The Point That Must Be Reached.

In A Certain Sense The Good Is Comfortless.