The work of art which I do not make, none other will ever make.

Men owe us what we imagine they will give us. We must forgive them this debt.

A work of art has an author and yet, when it is perfect, it has something which is anonymous about it.

Today it is not nearly enough to be a saint, but we must have the saintliness demanded by the present moment, a new saintliness, itself also without precedent.

We do not obtain the most precious gifts by going in search of them but by waiting for them.

If there were no affliction in this world we might think we were in paradise.

The human soul has need of security and also of risk. The fear of violence or of hunger or of any other extreme evil is a sickness of the soul. The boredom produced by a complete absence of risk is also a sickness of the soul.