In Switzerland they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!

Cruel men cry easily at the cinema.

We remember the details of our story, we do not invent them.

With Your great schemes, You ruin our happiness like a harvester ruins a mouse's nest: I hate You, God, I hate You as though You existed.

I'm tired and I'm sick to death of being without you.

Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.

So much of life [is] a putting-off of unhappiness for another time. Nothing [is] ever lost by delay.