I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.

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

And that wreched creature without hands or feet, who had to be put to bed and fed like a child, that pitiable remnant of a man, whose almost vanished life was nothing more than one scream of pain, cried out in furious indignation: 'What a fool one must be to go and kill oneself!' " - 'Joy of Life

If I cannot overwhelm with my quality, I will overwhelm with my quantity.

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.

Don't go looking at me like that because you'll wear your eyes out.

The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one's toes on the gravestones.