and he loved her suddenly because she loved him.

The humour of Dostoievsky is the humour of a barloafer who ties a kettle to a dog's tail.

Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul.

Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all.

As the cosmos are in place, so be it with your life.

You're beginning to dislike me, aren't you? Well, dislike me. It doesn't make any difference to me now.

It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideals which have been instilled in them, and each time they come into contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded.