If you don't make mistakes, you don't make anything .

No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.

His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed, how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain -- why he did not instantly disappear.

I can't imagine a human being so hard up for something to do as to quarrel with me.

Woe to the man whose heart has not learned while young to hope, to love - and to put its trust in life.

An artist is a man of action, whether he creates a personality, invents an expedient, or finds the issue of a complicated situation.

All one's work might have been better done; but this is a sort of reflection a worker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every one of his conceptions to remain forever a private vision, an evanescent reverie.