There can be no progress-real, moral prgress-except in the individual and by the individual himself.

Life swarms with innocent monsters.

The idea which man forms of beauty imprints itself throughout his attire, rumples or stiffens his garments, rounds off or aligns his gestures, and, finally, even subtly penetrates the features of his face.

If wine were to disappear from human production, I believe it would cause an absence, a failure in health and intellect, a void much more terrifying than all the recesses and the deviations for which wine is regarded as responsible.

The insatiable thirst for everything that lies beyond, and that life reveals, is the most living proof of our immortality.

A book is a garden, a party, a company by the way.

The world only goes round by misunderstanding.