Martyrs, my friend, have to choose between being forgotten, mocked or used. As for being understood - never.

But it's not easy. I've been thinking it over for years. While we loved each other we didn't need words to make ourselves understood. But people don't love forever. A time came when I should have found the words to keep her with me, only I couldn't.

We are not certain, we are never certain. If we were we could reach some conclusions, and we could, at last, make others take us seriously.

Only it takes time to be happy. A lot of time. Happiness, too, is a long patience.

Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear.

The end of their passion consists of loving uselessly at the moment when it is pointless.

The world is unimportant and whoever recognizes this conquers his liberty.