Nature, which makes nothing durable, always repeats itself so that nothing which it makes may be lost.

In a very ugly and sensible age, the arts borrow, not from life, but from each other.

The proper basis for marriage is a mutual misunderstanding.

Work is the curse of the drinking classes.

What is mind but motion in the intellectual sphere?

I now see that sorrow, being the supreme emotion of which man is capable, is at once the type and test of all great art.

To regret one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development. To deny one’s own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one’s own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.