A man is a critic when he cannot be an artist, in the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.

I am a man-pen. I feel through the pen, because of the pen.

And he beholds the moon; like a rounded fragment of ice filled with motionless light.

I don't believe that happiness is possible, but I think tranquility is.

Concern for morality makes every work of the imagination false and stupid.

He was bored now when Emma suddenly began to sob on his breast; and his heart, like the people who can only stand a certain amount of music, became drowsy through indifference to the vibrations of a love whose subtleties he could no longer distinguish.

But the most wretched thing, is it not-is to drag out, as I do, a useless existence. If our pains were only of some use to someone, we should find consolation in the thought of the sacrifice.