Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.
Let us not be needlessly bitter: certain failures are sometimes fruitful.
One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland - and no other.
No matter which way we go, it is no better than any other. It is all the same whether you achieve something or not, have faith or not, just as it is all the same whether you cry or remain silent.
Jealousy - that jumble of secret worship and ostensible aversion.
Everything turns on pain; the rest is accessory, even nonexistent, for we remember only what hurts. Painful sensations being the only real ones, it is virtually useless to experience others.