Great feelings take with them their own universe, splendid or abject. They light up with their passion an exclusive world in which they recognize their climate.

In normal times all of us know, whether consciously or not, that there is no love which can't be bettered; nevertheless, we reconcile ourselves more or less easily to the fact that ours has never risen above the average.

Without freedom there is no art.

The slave and those whose present life is miserable and who can find no consolation in the heavens are assured that at least the future belongs to them. The future is the only kind of property that the masters willingly concede to the slaves.

Here lives a free man. Nobody serves him.

Our reason has driven all away. Alone at last, we end up ruling over a desert.

To abandon oneself to principles is really to die - and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.