Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.

One cannot bring children into a world like this. One cannot perpetuate suffering, or increase the breed of these lustful animals, who have no lasting emotions, but only whims and vanities, eddying them now this way, now that.

Speech is an old torn net, through which the fish escape as one casts it over them.

... the public and the private worlds are inseparably connected ... the tyrannies and servilities of the one are the tyrannies and servilities of the other.

They say the sky is the same everywhere. Travellers, the shipwrecked, exiles, and the dying draw comfort from the thought.

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

It is no use trying to sum people up. One must follow hints, not exactly what is said, nor yet entirely what is done.