We’re young, we’re not monsters, no fools: we’ll conquer happiness for ourselves.
It's all romanticism, nonsense, rottenness, art.
Belonging to oneself--the whole essence of life lies in that.
Love isn't actually a feeling at all--it's an illness, a certain condition of body and soul.... Usually it takes possession of someone without his permission, all of a sudden, against his will--just like cholera or a fever.
Go and try to disprove death. Death will disprove you, and that's all!
It was only the vulgarly mediocre that repelled her.