He has robbed me, yet he has given me something of greater value . . . he has given to me myself.

Whether you and I and a few others will renew the world some day remains to be seen. But within ourselves we must renew it each day.

What should I possibly have to tell you, oh venerable one? Perhaps that you're searching far too much? That in all that searching, you don't find the time for finding?

I suddenly saw how sad and artificial my life had been during this period, for the loves, friends, habits and pleasures of these years were discarded like badly fitting clothes. I parted from them without pain and all that remained was to wonder that I could have endured them so long.

But your questions, which are unanswerable without exception, all spring from the same erroneous thinking.

The bourgeois today burns as heretics and hangs as criminals those to whom he erects monuments tomorrow.

Love is like death. It is fulfillment and an evening after which nothing more may follow.