Love is an incurable malady like those pathetic states in which rheumatism affords the sufferer a brief respite only to be replaced by epileptiform headaches.

The only true voyage would be not to travel through a hundred different lands, but to see the same land through a hundred different pairs of eyes.

Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.

I had come in time to learn that it was a mistake to smile a friendly smile when somebody made a fool of me.

Any mental activity is easy if it need not be subjected to reality.

What a profound significance small things assume when the woman we love conceals them from us.

Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.