Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

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

Gratitude is not a virtue I believe in, and to me it seems hypocritical to expect it from a child.

Oh, if I had had a friend at this moment, a friend in an attic room, dreaming by candlelight and with a violin lying ready at his hand! How I should have slipped up to him in his quiet hour, noiselessly climbing the winding stair to take him by surprise, and then with talk and music we should have held heavenly festival throughout the night!

Love can be begged, bought, or received as a gift, one can find it in the street, but one cannot steal it.

I live in my dreams — that's what you sense. Other people live in dreams, but not in their own. That's the difference.

So you can't dance? Not at all? Not even one step? How can you say that you've taken any trouble to live when you won't even dance?