God! how is it that we fail to recognize that the mask of pleasure, stripped of all hypocrisy, is that of anguish?

It is the perpetual dread of fear, the fear of fear, that shapes the face of a brave man.

Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.

What a cunning mixture of sentiment, pity, tenderness, irony surrounds adolescence, what knowing watchfulness! Young birds on their first flight are hardly so hovered around.

What does it matter, all is grace.

Civilization exists precisely so that there may be no masses but rather men alert enough never to constitute masses.

Suicide only really frightens those who are never tempted by it and never will be, for its darkness only welcomes those who are predestined to it.