Oh, time betrays us. Time is the great enemy.

I can't think why I was cursed with this inordinate desire to write, if the high gods weren't going to give me some more adquate means of expressing myself than that which my present pedestrian prose affords.

I advise nobody to drown sorrow in cocoa. It is bad for the figure and it does not alleviate the sorrow.

Most gay, conversational, careless, lovely city ... where one drinks golden Tokay until one feels most beautiful, and warm and loved - oh, Budapesth!

it is the brevity of life which makes it tolerable; its experiences have value because they have an end.

Is this the final treachery of time, that the old become a burden upon the young?

Surely, if life is good, it is good throughout its substance; we cannot separate men's activities from women's and say, these are worthy of praise and these unworthy.