The artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.

Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.

Liberty is dangerous.

Stupidity has a knack of getting its way.

No matter how the sun shone, the sea held forth no more promises.

Capital punishment is the most premeditated of murders, to which no criminal's deed, however calculated can be compared. For there to be an equivalency, the death penalty would have to punish a criminal who had warned his victim of the date at which he would inflict a horrible death on him and who, from that moment onward, had confined him at his mercy for months. Such a monster is not encountered in private life.

There is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.