The search for a new personality is futile; what is fruitful is the interest the old personality can take in new activities.

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.

The closing years of life are like the end of a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped.

Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi. (Death will come and it will have your eyes.)

Hate is always a clash between our spirit and someone else's body.

No woman marries for money; they are all clever enough, before marrying a millionaire, to fall in love with him first.

Artists are the monks of the bourgeois state.