The smaller it is the heart, more hatred houses.

I exist," murmurs someone whose name is Everyone. "I'm young and in love; I am old and I want rest; I work, I prosper, I do good business, I have houses to rent, money in State Securities; I am happy, I have wife and children; I like all these things and I want to go on living, so leave me alone."... There are moments when all this casts a deep chill on the large-minded pioneers of the human race.

Idleness is the heaviest of all oppressions.

A war between Europeans is a civil war.

Despots play their part in the works of thinkers. Fettered words are terrible words. The writer doubles and trebles the power of his writing when a ruler imposes silence on the people. Something emerges from that enforced silence, a mysterious fullness which filters through and becomes steely in the thought.

Symmetry is tedious, and tedium is the very basis of mourning. Despair yawns.

The little people must be sacred to the big ones, and it is from the rights of the weak that the duty of the strong is comprised.