He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers - and spirit itself will stink.

Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.

When a man is in love he endures more than at other times; he submits to everything.

The woman and the genius do not work. Up to now, woman has been mankind's supreme luxury. In all those moments when we do our best, we do not work. Work is merely a means to these moments.

Time flies apace-we would fain believe that everything flies forward with it.

At the beginning of a marriage ask yourself whether this woman will be interesting to talk to from now until old age. Everything else in marriage is transitory: most of the time is spent in conversation.

The earth has a skin and that skin has diseases; one of its diseases is called man.