I love enemies, though not in the Christian way. They amuse me, excite my blood. Being always on one’s guard, catching every glance, the significance of every word, guessing at intentions, frustrating their plots, pretending to be tricked, and suddenly, with a shove, upturning the whole enormous and arduously built edifice of their cunning and schemes—that’s what I call life.

Women only love those that they don’t know.

Afraid of decision, I buried my finer feelings in the depths of my heart and they died there.

He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.

Women love only those whom they do not know!

It is sad to see a young man's fondest hopes and dreams shattered when the rose-colured veil is plucked away and he sees the actions and feelings of men for what they are. But he still has the hope of replacing his old illusions with others, just as fleeting, but also just as sweet.

My whole life has been merely a succession of miserable and unsuccessful denials of feelings or reason.