Dry happiness is like dry bread. We eat, but we do not dine. I wish for the superfluous, for the useless, for the extravagant, for the too much, for that which is not good for anything.

When we are at the end of life, to die means to go away; when we are at the beginning, to go away means to die.

Men like me are impossible until the day when they become necessary.

We are given up to those gods, those monsters, those giants, — our thoughts.

Is there not in every human soul a primitive spark, a divine element, incorruptible in this world and immortal in the next, which can be developed by goodness, kindled, lit up, and made to radiate, and which evil can never entirely extinguish.

We are not loved by our friends for what we are; rather, we are loved in spite of what we are.

Another story must begin!