It is Sunday and on Sundays it is morning and in the morning the wind is blowing and in the wind all my cares fly away like shy birds.

But first I have to return to the forest. It's quite likely, by the way, that I'll have more to say about the bridge, too.

And, indeed, why on earth not? And didn't I, on the whole, play a totally useless, pointless, untenable, irresponsible, and thus superfluous part? Absolutely!

How richly thinged the world is; again and again we sincerely have to adore it. 

Now I'm going to smoke a cigarette and think about a small town. 

No, it was about something much more stupid. However, since I took it very seriously there was nothing at all dumb about it, yet nonetheless it was incredibly dumb.

The Devil: "In my opinion, that I am a poor man isn't often enough taken into account."

We can heighten impressions into the bizarre. From a certain ethical, sculptural standpoint that's permitted.