One doesn't live in a country, one lives in a language.

Were we to undertake an exhaustive self-scrutiny, disgust would paralyze us, we would be doomed to a thankless existence.

All that shimmers on the surface of the world, all that we call interesting, is the fruit of ignorance and inebriation.

In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.

Every thought should recall the ruin of a smile.

By what aberration has suicide, the only truly normal action, become the attribute of the flawed?

A self-respecting man is a man without a country. A fatherland is birdlime.