Our first intuitions are the true ones.
Music is the refuge of souls ulcerated by happiness.
Tears do not burn except in solitude.
Nostalgia, more than anything, gives us the shudder of our own imperfection. This is why with Chopin we feel so little like gods.
What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.
I saw that philosophy had no power to make my life more bearable. Thus I lost my belief in philosophy.