Politics in a literary work, is like a gun shot in the middle of a concert, something vulgar, and however, something which is impossible to ignore.

In our calling, we have to choose; we must make our fortune either in this world or in the next, there is no middle way.

Indeed, man has two different beings inside him. What devil thought of that malicious touch?

The Russians imitate French ways, but always at a distance of fifty years.

...one of the traits of genius is not to drag its thought through the rut worn by vulgar minds.

Why not make an end of it all?... My life is a succession of griefs and bitter feelings.... What is death?... A very small matter,when all is said; only a fool would be concerned about it.

A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.