I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing. I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition. Something – the eternal ‘what’s the use?’ – sets its bronze barrier across every avenue that I open up in the realm of hypothesis.

God is only a word dreamed up to explain the world

Stupidity is something unshakable; nothing attacks it without breaking itself against it; it is of the nature of granite, hard and resistant.

I love my work with a frenetic and perverse love, as an ascetic loves the hair shirt which scratches his belly.

I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing. I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition. Something – the eternal ‘what’s the use?’ – sets its bronze barrier across every avenue that I open up in the realm of hypothesis.

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

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