A Soviet citizen, an official writer, once said to me: "The day when Communism (that is, well-being for everyone) reigns, man's tragedy will begin: his finitude."
This is the basis for the joy of love when there is joy; we feel that our existence is justified.
To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June
The best work is not what is most difficult for you; it is what you do best.
Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.
The writer is committed when he plunges to the very depths of himself with the intent to disclose, not his individuality, but his person in the complex society that conditions and supports him.