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.

Romantic poses aside, let us recognize that "falling in love"...is an inferior state of mind, a form of transitory imbecility.

The trend towards pure art betrays not arrogance, as is often thought, but modesty. Art that has rid itself of human pathos is a thing without consequence.

Man adapts himself to everything, to the best and the worst.

Life is the external text, the burning bush by the edge of the path from which God speaks.

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

Life is a series of collisions with the future; it is not the sum of what we have been, but what we yearn to be.