In the end we love our desire and not what it is that we desire.

There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.

That grand drama in a hundred acts, which is reserved for the next two centuries of Europe-the most terrible, most questionable and perhaps also the most hopeful of all dramas.

Death. The certain prospect of death could sweeten every life with a precious and fragrant drop of levity- and now you strange apothecary souls have turned it into an ill-tasting drop of poison that makes the whole of life repulsive.

A man who whinnies with noisy laughter, surpasses all the animals in vulgarity.

Many people wait throughout their whole lives for the chance to be good in their own fashion.

We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.