They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his sweetheart. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience.

Action is consolatory. It is the enemy of thought and the friend of flattering illusions.

I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance.

I couldn't have felt more of lonely desolation somehow, had I been robbed of a belief or had missed my destiny in life.

In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, especially if it has got to be carried into the market.

We live as we dream - alone.

Give me the right word and the right accent and I will move the world.