Going home must be like going to render an account.
The revolutionary spirit is mighty convenient in this, that it frees one from all scruples as regards ideas.
The mind of man is capable of anything.
Writing in English is like throwing mud at a wall.
No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of oneโs existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.
The blight of futility that lies in wait for men's speeches had fallen upon our conversation and made it a thing of empty sounds.