A special form of misery had begun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant, nothing acute about it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it; it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a square yard of space.

Everything passes, only truth remains.

Let us not forget that the reasons for human actions are usually incalculably more complex and diverse than we tend to explain them later, and are seldom clearly manifest.

In abstract love of humanity one almost always only loves oneself.

Woe to the man who offends a small child!

One must be a great man indeed to be able to hold out even against common sense." "Or else a fool.

Being in love doesn't mean loving.