But it's not easy. I've been thinking it over for years. While we loved each other we didn't need words to make ourselves understood. But people don't love forever. A time came when I should have found the words to keep her with me, only I couldn't.

Every writer, big or small, needs to say or write that the genius is always hissed at by his contemporaries. Naturally, this is not true, it happens only occasionally and often by chance. But this need within the writer is enlightening.

Forever I shall be a stranger to myself. In psychology as in logic, there are truths but no truth.

Still, obviously, one can't be sensible all the time.

It is not true that the heart wears out - but the body creates this illusion.

If, after all, men cannot always make history have a meaning, they can always act so that their own lives have one.

I cling like a miser to the freedom that disappears as soon as there is an excess of things.