There is no explaining anything by reasoning and so it is useless to reason.

They have succeeded in accumulating a greater mass of objects, but the joy in the world has grown less.

Dreams seem to be spurred on not by reason but by desire, not by the head but by the heart, and yet what complicated tricks my reason has played sometimes in dreams.

It's in the homes of spiteful old widows that one finds such cleanliness.

Man is a creature that can get accustomed to anything, and I think that is the best definition of him.

Even if we are occupied with important things and even if we attain honour or fall into misfortune, still let us remember how good it once was here, when we were all together united by a good and kind feeling which made us perhaps better than we are.

But how could you live and have no story to tell?