Our evenings are farewells. Our parties are testaments. So that the secret stream of suffering. May warm the cold of life.

Failure to love is almost like murder.

In every generation there has to be some fool who will speak the truth as he sees it.

As far as modern writing is concerned, it is rarely rewarding to translate it, although it might be easy. Translation is very much like copying paintings.

To be a woman is a great adventure; To drive men mad is a heroic thing.

The writer is the Faust of modern society, the only surviving individualist in a mass age. To his orthodox contemporaries he seems a semi-madman.

Gregariousness is always the refuge of mediocrities, whether they swear by Soloviev or Kant or Marx. Only individuals seek the truth, and they shun those whose sole concern is not the truth.