The tender friendships one gives up, on parting, leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious feeling of a treasure somewhere buried.

There is no hope of joy except in human relations.

Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.

I don't believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are naive. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons.

One is a member of a country, a profession, a civilization, a religion. One is not just a man.

I know but one freedom and that is the freedom of the mind.

The friend within the man is that part of him which belongs to you and opens to you a door which never, perhaps, is opened to another. Such a friend is true, and all he says is true; and he loves you even if he hates you in other mansions of his heart.