In a republic, that paradise of debility, the politician is a petty tyrant who obeys the laws.
We would not be interested in human beings if we did not have the hope of someday meeting someone worse off than ourselves.
Tears do not burn except in solitude.
Normal people have nothing to forget.
Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.
As art sinks into paralysis, artists multiply. This anomaly ceases to be one if we realize that art, on its way to exhaustion, has become both impossible and easy.