What music appeals to in us it is difficult to know; what we do know is that music reaches a zone so deep that madness itself cannot penetrate there.

Tragic paradox of freedom: the mediocre men who alone make its exercise possible cannot guarantee its duration.

Each of us is born with a share of purity, predestined to be corrupted by our commerce with mankind, by that sin against solitude.

History proves nothing because it contains everything.

Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.

The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.

Our place is somewhere between being and nonbeing - between two fictions.