... I will never love, for I should never be loved as I desire to be loved.

To live, to have so much ambition, to suffer, to cry, to fight and, at the end, forgetfulness ... as if I had never existed.

To a woman who knows her own mind men can only be a minor consideration.

When I die my death will be caused by indignation at the stupidity of human nature.

To say that my grief will be eternal would be ridiculous - nothing is eternal.

Art consists precisely in making us admire old stories, charming us with them eternally, as Nature charms with her eternal sun, her ancient earth, and her men built all on the same pattern, and all animated by the same feelings.

I long to see everything, to know everything, to learn everything!.