The trains roared by like projectiles level on the darkness, fuming and burning, making the valley clang with their passage. They were gone, and the lights of the towns and villages glittered in silence.

The mind has no existence by itself; it is only the glitter of the sun on the surface of the waters.

Having achieved and accomplished love, then the man passes into the unknown. He has become himself, his tale is told.

Any novel of importance has a purpose. If only the "purpose" be large enough, and not at outs with the passional inspiration.

Be a good animal, true to your animal instincts.

So as long as you can forget your body you are happy and the moment you begin to be aware of your body, you are wretched. So if civilization is any good, it has to help us forget our bodies, and then time passes happily without our knowing it. Help us get rid of our bodies altogether.

I can't do with mountains at close quarters - they are always in the way, and they are so stupid, never moving and never doing anything but obtrude themselves.