I learned what it is to live in the open air, and I learned that our lives are domestic in more sense than we think.

I know very well what Goethe meant when he said that he never had a chagrin but he made a poem out of it. I have altogether too much patience of this kind.

We communicate like the burrows of foxes, in silence and darkness, under ground. We are undermined by faith and love.

All misfortune is but a stepping stone to fortune.

One may be drunk with love without being any nearer to finding his mate.

A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind.

Eastward I go only by force; but westward I go free.