Faith which does not doubt is dead faith.

Only in solitude do we find ourselves; and in finding ourselves, we find in ourselves all our brothers in solitude.

What is vanity but the longing to survive?

The will, the will not ever to die, the refusal to resign oneself to death, ceaselessly builds the house of life while the keen blasts and icy winds of reason unceasingly batter at the structure and beat it down.

The less we read, the more harmful it is what we read.

These terrible sociologists, who are the astrologers and alchemists of our twentieth century.

For it is the suffering flesh, it is suffering, it is death, that lovers perpetuate upon the earth. Love is at once the brother, son, and father of death, which is its sister, mother, and daughter. And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth