Of all the inanimate objects, of all men's creations, books are the nearest to us for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to the truth, and our persistent leanings to error. But most of all they resemble us in their precious hold on life.

Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you, smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, "Come and find out".

It's only those who do nothing that make no mistakes, I suppose.

One can't live with one's finger everlastingly on one's pulse.

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.

I am a great foe of favoritism in public life, in private life, and even in the delicate relationship of an author to his works.

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.