It's perfectly obvious that somebody's responsible and somebody's innocent. Otherwise it [justice] makes no sense at all.

Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.

Nature is honest, we aren't; we embalm our dead.

Is not man himself the most unsettled of all the creatures of the earth? What is this trembling sensation that is intensified with each ascending step in the natural order?

Sisterly love is, of all sentiments, the most abstract. Nature does not grant it any functions.

A vague uneasiness: the police. It's like when you suddenly understand you have to undress in front of the doctor.

Everyone has, inside himself ... what shall I call it? A piece of good news! Everyone is ... a very great, very important character.