7.4.16.
form of torture from which there is only temporary reprieve until one can be subjected to further torments. A terrible assortment of torments. An exhausting march, a cough-filled night, a company of drunks, a company of mean and stupid people.
4.7.16.
I know that this world exists.
That I am placed in it like my eye in its visual field.
That something about it is problematic, which we call its meaning.
That this meaning does not lie in it but outside it.
1.6.15.
The great problem around which everything I write revolves is: Is there a priori an order in the world, and if so, of what does it consist? You are looking into a fog bank and persuade yourself that the goal is near. But the fog lifts, and the goal is not yet in sight.