In people's eyes I readPages of malice and sin.

Of two friends, one is always the slave of the other, although frequently neither acknowledges the fact to himself.

Happy people are ignoramuses and glory is nothing else but success, and to achieve it one only has to be cunning.

A strange thing, the human heart in general, and woman's heart in particular.

And I, as I lived, in an alien landWill die a slave and an orphan.

I was lying, but I wanted to rouse him. I have an inborn urge to contradict; my whole life has been a mere chain of sad and futile opposition to the dictates of either heart or reason. The presence of an enthusiast makes me as cold as a midwinter's day, and, I believe, frequent association with a listless phlegmatic would make me an impassioned dreamer.

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