I was assailed by memories of a life that wasn't mine anymore, but one in which I'd found the simplest and most lasting joys.

Every stone here sweats with suffering, I know that. I have never looked at them without a feeling of anguish. But deep in my heart I know that the most wretched among you have seen a divine face emerge from their darkness. That is the face you are asked to see.

Art and revolt will die only with the last man.

Thus, I always began by assuming the worst; my appeal was dismissed. That meant, of course, I was to die. Sooner than others, obviously. 'But,' I reminded myself, 'it's common knowledge that life isn't worth living, anyhow.' And, on a wide view, I could see that it makes little difference whether one dies at the age of thirty or threescore and ten-- since, in either case, other men will continue living, the world will go on as before. Also, whether I died now or forty years hence, this business of dying had to be got through, inevitably.

The danger of lectures is that they create the illusion of teaching for teachers, and the illusion of learning for learners.

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

Madness such as this, its like trying to stop a fire with the moisture from a kiss