He was afraid of defiling the love which filled his soul.

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.

One must be cunning and wicked in this world.

When you love someone, you love the person as they are, and not as you'd like them to be.

Our body is a machine for living. It is organized for that, it is its nature. Let life go on in it unhindered and let it defend itself.

Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed.

By patriotism is meant, not only spontaneous, instinctive love for one's own nation, and preference for it above all other nations, but also the belief that such love and preference are good and useful.