You have never loved me. You have only thought it pleasant to be in love with me.
Don't use that foreign word: ideals. We have the excellent native word: lies.
Poetry is to hold judgment on your soul.
In great memories there lies the seed of growth.
What sort of truths are they that the majority usually supports? They are truths that are of such advanced age that they are beginning to break up. And if a truth is as old as that, it is also in a fair way to become a lie, gentlemen.
One should never put on one's best trousers to go out to fight for freedom.