Nobody grasped you by the shoulder while there was still time. Now the clay of which you were shaped has dried and hardened, and naught in you will ever awaken the sleeping musician, the poet, the asronomer that possibly inhabited you in the beginning.

What do we mean by setting a man free? You cannot free a man who dwells in a desert and is an unfeeling brute.

Cries of despair, misery, sobbing grief are a kind of wealth.

Horror causes men to clench their fists, and in horror men join together.

Mad is the man who is forever gritting his teeth against that granite block, complete and changeless, of the past.

Defeat is a thing of weariness, of incoherence, of boredom, and above all futility.

If a composer suffers from loss of sleep and his sleeplessness induces him to turn out masterpieces, what a profitable loss it is!