He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began.

Life is fragile and absurd.

There is no genius where there is not simplicity.

Happiness does not depend on outward things, but on the way we see them.

I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine.

As often happens between men who have chosen different pursuits, each, while in argument justifying the other's activity, despised it in the depth of his heart.

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