There is but one freedom, to put oneself right with death. After that everything is possible.

We are all special cases.

I have no idea what's awaiting me, or what will happen when this all ends. For the moment I know this: there are sick people and they need curing.

It is easier to kill what we do not know.

Some cry: 'Love me!!' Others: 'Don't love me!!' But a certain genus, the worst and most unhappy, cries: 'Don't love me and be faithful to me!!'

Of course, true love is exceptional - two or three times a century, more or less. The rest of the time there is vanity or boredom.

It is not true that the heart wears out - but the body creates this illusion.