I have but one passion: to enlighten those who have been kept in the dark, in the name of humanity which has suffered so much and is entitled to happiness. My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.

The thought is a deed. Of all deeds she fertilizes the world most.

Did not one spend the first half of one's days in dreams of happiness and the second half in regrets and terrors?

Blow the candle out, I don't need to see what my thoughts look like.

Nothing develops intelligence like travel.

It was always the same; other people gave up loving before she did. They got spoilt, or else they went away; in any case, they were partly to blame. Why did it happen so? She herself never changed; when she loved anyone, it was for life. She could not understand desertion; it was something so huge, so monstrous that the notion of it made her little heart break.

Inability, human incapacity, is the only boundary to an art.