Impromptu thoughts are mental wild-flowers.

Ah! I shall repeat it endlessly, the only misfortune is to be born!

Heed the still small voice that so seldom leads us wrong, and never into folly.

Do I believe in ghosts? No, but I'm afraid of them.

I love nothing and that is the true cause of my ennui.

God is not more incomprehensible than you; but if he is not more just, it is hardly worth while beIieving in him.

. . . everything seems insupportable to me. This may very well be because I am insupportable myself.