By means of music the very passions, enjoy themselves.

The hour when you say, "What does my happiness matter? It is poverty and filth, and a wretched complacency. Yet my happiness should justify existence itself!

I have been casting shadows all my life without caring about how deeply they stain my soul.

The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters.

The beating of drums, which delights young writers who serve a party, sounds to him who does not belong to the party line like a rattling of chains, and excites sympathy rather than admiration.

Pity makes suffering contagious.

He who bears injustice alone is terrible to behold.