There will be today, there will be tomorrow, there will be always, and there was yesterday, and there was the day before.

One ought only to write when one leaves a piece of one's own flesh in the inkpot, each time one dips one's pen.

Love those you hate you.

... in marriage the great thing was love, and that with love one would always be happy, for happiness rests only on oneself.

When Levin thought what he was and what he was living for, he could find no answer to the questions and was reduced to despair; but when he left off questioning himself about it, it seemed as though he knew both what he was and what he was living for, acting and living resolutely and without hesitation.

Then we should find some artificial inoculation against love, as with smallpox.

The subject of history is the life of peoples and mankind.