…the majority of men do not think in order to know the truth, but in order to assure themselves that the life which they lead, and which is agreeable and habitual to them, is the one which coincides with the truth.

My piece of bread only belongs to me when I know that everyone else has a share, and that no one starves while I eat.

Always the same. Now a spark of hope flashes up, then a sea of despair rages, and always pain; always pain, always despair, and always the same.

He remembered his mother's love for him, and his family's, and his friends', and the enemy's intention to kill him seemed impossible.

A writer is dear and necessary for us only in the measure of which he reveals to us the inner workings of his very soul.

There are as many loves as there are hearts.

I'm getting old, that's the thing! What's in me now won't be there anymore.