Now even if I die, no one will be so grieved as to do himself bodily harm.

The weak fear happiness itself. They can harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness

Is it not true that no two human beings understand anything whatsoever about each other, that those who consider themselves bosom friends may be utterly mistaken about their fellow and, failing to realize this sad truth throughout a lifetime, weep when they read in the newspapers about his death?

As for love . . . no, having once written that word I can write nothing more.

As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be alright. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be nothing, the wind, the sky.

But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.

It isn't that I dislike artists, but I can't stand anyone who puts on those ponderous airs of a man of character.