What sort of faults may we retain, nay, even cherish in ourselves? Those faults which are rather pleasant than offensive to others.

A life without love, without the presence of the beloved, is nothing but a mere magic-lantern show. We draw out slide after slide, swiftly tiring of each, and pushing it back to make haste for the next.

Thank God when he oppresses you, and again when he releases you.

Our modern wars make many unhappy while they last and none happy when they are over.

Mathematicians are like Frenchmen: whatever you say to them they translate into their own language and forthwith it is something entirely different.

Everything which is properly business we must keep carefully separate from life. Business requires earnestness and method; life must have a freed handling.

Since you know me and my destiny only too well, you probably also know what attracts me to all unfortunate people.