In the ancient recipe, the three antidotes for dullness or boredom are sleep, drink, and travel. It is rather feeble. From sleep you wake up, from drink you become sober, and from travel you come home again. And then where are you? No, the two sovereign remedies for dullness are love or a crusade.

Whatever men you take, keep the idea of man intact: let your soul wait whether your body does or not.

Away with all ideals. Let each individual act spontaneously from the forever incalculable prompting of the creative wellhead within him. There is no universal law.

One sheds one's sicknesses in books - repeats and presents again one's emotions, to be master of them.

Hate's a growing thing like anything else. It's the inevitable outcome of forcing ideas onto life, of forcing one's deepest instincts; our deepest feelings we force according to certain ideas.

When one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere.

A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it.