… Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!

The public wants work which flatters its illusions.

Since you are now studying geometry and trigonometry, I will give you a problem. A ship sails the ocean. It left Boston with a cargo of wool. It grosses 200 tons. It is bound for Le Havre. The mainmast is broken, the cabin boy is on deck, there are 12 passengers aboard, the wind is blowing East-North-East, the clock points to a quarter past three in the afternoon. It is the month of May. How old is the captain?

Writing history is like drinking an ocean and pissing a cupful.

Only three things are infinite. The sky in its stars, the sea in its drops of water, and the heart in its tears.

What is beautiful is moral, that is all there is to it.

The deplorable mania of doubt exhausts me. I doubt about everything, even my doubts.