The ideal, without doubt, varies, but its enemies, alas, are always the same.

Kill one man and you're a murderer, kill a million and you're a conqueror.

I still understand a few words in life, but I no longer think they make a sentence.

Far too often the choices reality proposes are such as to take away one's taste for choosing.

It is not easy to imagine how little interested a scientist usually is in the work of any other, with the possible exception of the teacher who backs him or the student who honors him.

One kills a man, one is an assassin; one kills millions, one is a conqueror; one kills everybody, one is a god.

On the brink of being satiated, desire still appears infinite.