The French Revolution gave birth to no artists but only to a great journalist, Desmoulins, and to an under-the-counter writer, Sade. The only poet of the times was the guillotine.
Can one be a saint if God does not exist? That is the only concrete problem I know of today.
What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.
Too many have dispensed with generosity in order to practice charity.
Some people talk in their sleep. Lecturers talk while other people sleep.
What made me run away was doubtless not so much the fear of settling down, but of settling down permanently in something ugly.