Beauty in art is often nothing but ugliness subdued.
In our ideals we unwittingly reveal our vices.
The books one has written in the past have two surprises in store: one couldn't write them again, and wouldn't want to.
I still understand a few words in life, but I no longer think they make a sentence.
The nobility of a human being is strictly independent of that of his convictions.
To reflect is to disturb one's thoughts.