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

Whatever people may say, the fastidious formal manner of the upper classes is preferable to the slovenly easygoing behaviour of the common middle class. In moments of crisis, the former know how to act, the latter become uncouth brutes.

If it were possible to have a life absolutely free from every feeling of sin, what a terrifying vacuum it would be.

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

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.

When writing poetry, it is not that produces a bright idea, but the bright idea that kindles the fire of.

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