We should strive to go on in fortune and misfortune like a clock during a thunderstorm.

You must suffer me to go my own dark way.

And every day when I've been good, I get an orange after food.

Saints are sinners who kept on going.

I have done my fiddling so long under Vesuvius that I have almost forgotten to play, and can only wait for the eruption and think it long of coming. Literally no man has more wholly outlived life than I. And still it's good fun.

To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life.

Under the strain of this continually impending doom and by the sleeplessness to which I now condemned myself, ay, even beyond what I had thought possible to man, I became, in my own person, a creature eaten up and emptied by fever, languidly weak both in body and mind, and solely occupied by one thought: the horror of my other self.