I will not be modest. Humble, as much as you like, but not modest. Modesty is the virtue of the lukewarm.

Existence is an imperfection.

With despair, true optimism begins: the optimism of the man who expects nothing, who knows he has no rights and nothing coming to him, who rejoices in counting on himself alone and in acting alone for the good of all.

It's quite an undertaking to start loving somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment right at the start where you have to jump across an abyss: if you think about it you don't do it.

Don't you feel the same way? When I cannot see myself, even though I touch myself, I wonder if I really exist.

I am not virtuous. Our sons will be if we shed enough blood to give them the right to be.

All I can do is make the best of what I am, become accustomed to it, evaluate the possibilities, and take advantage of them the best I can.