Fainthearted animals move about in herds. The lion walks alone in the desert. Let the poet always walk thus.

I love the majesty of human suffering.

Fainthearted animals move about in herds. The lion walks alone in the desert. Let the poet always walk thus.

Hope is the greatest madness. What can we expect of a world that we enter with the assurance of seeing our fathers and mothers die? A world where, if two beings love each other and give their lives to each other, both can be sure that one will watch the other perish?

France, for example, loves at the same time history and the drama, because the one explores the vast destinies of humanity, and the other the individual lot of man.

Of what use were the arts if they were only the reproduction and the imitation of life?

Silence alone is great; all else is feebleness . . . Perform with all your heart your long and heavy task. . . . Then as do I, say naught, but suffer and die.