All life is the struggle, the effort to be itself.

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.

There is but one way left to save a classic; to give up revering him and use him for our own salvation.

Abasement, degradation is simply the manner of life of the man who has refused to be what it is his duty to be.

The cynic, a parasite of civilization, lives by denying it, for the very reason that he is convinced that it will not fail.

Stupefaction, when it persists, becomes stupidity.

The poet begins where the man ends. The man's lot is to live his human life, the poet's to invent what is nonexistent.