Sisterly love is, of all sentiments, the most abstract. Nature does not grant it any functions.
Nature is honest, we aren't; we embalm our dead.
All of us are mad. If it weren't for the fact that every one of us is slightly abnormal, there wouldn't be any point in giving each person a separate name.
Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.
Behind everything we feel, there is always a sense of fear.
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?