Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.

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

Behind everything we feel, there is always a sense of fear.

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

At any given moment, I open my eyes and exist. And before that, during all eternity, what was there? Nothing.

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?

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