Writing is a fine thing, because it combines the two pleasures of talking to yourself and talking to a crowd.

A man is never completely alone in this world. At the worst, he has the company of a boy, a youth, and by and by a grown man - the one he used to be.

We do not remember days, we remember moments.

A work settles nothing, just as the labor of a whole generation settles nothing. Sons, and the morrow, always start afresh.

Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will. All the rest - thought, action - is just a pastime, mental or physical. What counts then, is to come to grips with reality. The rest can go.

At great periods you have always felt, deep within you, the temptation to commit suicide. You gave yourself to it, breached your own defenses. You were a child. The idea of suicide was a protest against life; by dying, you would escape this longing for death.

We commit two wrongs when we fail to right a wrong.