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

I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky — that’s all it is. It’s not a matter of intellect or logic, it’s loving with one’s inside, with one’s stomach.

Schoolboys are a merciless race, individually they are angels, but together, especially in schools, they are often merciless.

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

You sensed that you should be following a different path, a more ambitious one, you felt that you were destined for other things but you had no idea how to achieve them and in your misery you began to hate everything around you.

So long as man remains free he strives for nothing so incessantly and so painfully as to find someone to worship.

What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.