All happiness is a form of innocence.

Every invalid is a prisoner.

Do not mistake me. I am not yet weak enough to yield to fearful imaginings, which are almost as absurd as illusions of hope, and are certainly harder to bear. If I must deceive myself, I should prefer to stay on the side of confidence, for I shall lose no more there and shall suffer less.

In the evenings the art of building gave way to that of music, which is architecture, too, though invisible.

Everything turns out to be valuable that one does for one’s self without thought of profit.

A being afire with life cannot foresee death; in fact, by each of his deeds he denies that death exists.

All happiness is a work of art: the smallest error falsifies it, the slightest hesitation alters it, the least heaviness spoils it, the slightest stupidity brutalizes it.