The essence of man is, discontent, divine discontent; a sort of love without a beloved, the ache we feel in a member we no longer have.

We need to study the whole of history, not to fall back into it, but to see if we can escape from it.

Towns are full of people, houses full of tenants, hotels full of guests, trains full of travelers, cafés full of customers, parks full of promenaders, consulting-rooms of famous doctors full of patients, theatres full of spectators, and beaches full of bathers. What previously was, in general, no problem, now begins to be an everyday one, namely, to find room.

Poetry is adolescence fermented, and thus preserved.

Civilization is nothing more than the effort to reduce the use of force to the last resort.

One age cannot be completely understood if all the others are not understood. The song of history can only be sung as a whole.

We fall in love when our imagination projects nonexistent perfection upon another person. One day, the fantasy evaporates and with it, love dies.