Opinions are a private matter. The public has an interest only in judgments.

The art of storytelling is reaching its end because the epic side of truth, wisdom, is dying out.

Like ultraviolet rays memory shows to each man in the book of life a script that invisibly and prophetically glosses the text.

Any translation which intends to perform a transmitting function cannot transmit anything but information-hence, something inessential. This is the hallmark of bad translations.

The true picture of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image which flashes up at the instant when it can be recognized and is never seen again.

Not to find one’s way around a city does not mean much. But to lose one’s way in a city, as one loses one’s way in a forest, requires some schooling.

To the lover the loved one always appears as solitary.