In sinning, each man sins against all, and each man is at least partly guilt for another's sin. There is no isolated sin.

In a way there's only a fine shade of difference between the healthy and the deranged.

Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!

The cleverest of all, in my opinion, is the man who calls himself a fool at least once a month.

All of a sudden I became aware of a little star in one of those patches and I began looking at it intently. That was because the little star gave me an idea: I made up my mind to kill myself that night. I had made up my mind to kill myself already two months before and, poor as I am, I bought myself an excellent revolver and loaded it the same day. But two months had elapsed and it was still lying in the drawer. I was so utterly indifferent to everything that I was anxious to wait for the moment when I would not be so indifferent and then kill myself. Why -- I don't know.

Deprived of meaningful work, men and women lose their reason for existence; they go stark, raving mad.

If man has one good memory to go by, that may be enough to save him.