Moralists have no place in an art gallery.
People never think about words, they only feel them.
There is nothing stronger in the world than gentleness.
Strange are the ways of history, where no single thing abides, but all things flow into each other, fragment to fragment clinging.
With some people there is such a thing as the habit of betrayal.
Many events seem to happen twice to me; even trifles, unimportant-seeming, recur, as if I were destined to live them again, time reconquered, but with added knowledge and a different outcome.