To stay or to go, it amounted to the same thing.
Murder is terribly exhausting.
The world is unimportant and whoever recognizes this conquers his liberty.
One grows out of pity when it's useless.
You always get exaggerated notions of things you don't know anything about.
The act of love . . . is a confession. Selfishness screams aloud, vanity shows off, or else true generosity reveals itself.