Whoever gives nothing, has nothing. The greatest misfortune is not to be unloved, but not to love.
Where there is no hope, it is incumbent on us to invent it.
The real 19th century prophet was Dostoevsky, not Karl Marx.
Sometimes at night I would sleep open-eyed underneath a sky dripping with stars. I was alive then.
I want to know if I can live with what I know, and only than.
I shall not, as far as I am concerned, try to pass myself off as a Christian in your presence. I share with you the same revulsion from evil. But I do not share your hope, and I continue to struggle against this universe in which children suffer and die.