There are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that others might pick them up.
Deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.
If a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I should not mind a bit. But if a friend of mine had a sorrow and refused to allow me to share it, I should feel it most bitterly.
To be popular I must be mediocre.
Reforms in Russia are very tragic, but they always end in a farce.
The only people I would care to be with now are artists and people who have suffered: those who know what beauty is, and those who know what sorrow is: nobody else interests me.