Without form, the sensitiveness vanishes.

Tolerance is a very dull virtue. It is boring. Unlike love, it has always had a bad press. It is negative. It merely means putting up with people, being able to stand things.

If there is on earth a house with many mansions, it is the house of words.

We are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable, and only to be approached by the statistician or the poet.

One grows accustomed to being praised, or being blamed, or being advised, but it is unusual to be understood.

I seem fated to pass through the world without colliding with it or moving it — and I'm sure I can't tell you whether the fate's good or evil. I don't die — I don't fall in love. And if other people die or fall in love they always do it when I'm just not there.

Let us think of people as starting life with an experience they forget and ending it with one which they anticipate but cannot understand.