Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry.
The writer must wade into life as into the sea, but only up to the navel.
She would have liked not to be alive, or to be always asleep.
The only way to avoid being unhappy is to close yourself up in Art and to count for nothing all the rest.
What a heavy oar the pen is, and what a strong current ideas are to row in!
I detest my fellow-beings and do not feel that I am their fellow at all