Old hands soil, it seems, whatever they caress, but they too have their beauty when they are joined in prayer. Young hands were made for caresses and the sheathing of love. It is a pity to make them j...
The want of logic annoys. Too much logic bores. Life eludes logic, and everything that logic alone constructs remains artificial and forced.
To read a writer is for me not merely to get an idea of what he says, but to go off with him and travel in his company.
Nothing is so silly as the expression of a man who is being complimented.
Seize from every moment its unique novelty and do not prepare your joys.
One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.
In order to be utterly happy the only thing necessary is to refrain from comparing this moment with other moments in the past which I often did not fully enjoy because I was comparing them with othe...
To win one's joy through struggle is better than to yield to melancholy.
If one could recover the uncompromising spirit of one's youth one's greatest indignation would be for what one has become.
Great authors are admirable in this respect: in every generation they make for disagreement. Through them we become aware of our differences.
No theory is good unless it permits, not rest, but the greatest work. No theory is good except on condition that one use it to go on beyond.
I wished for nothing beyond her smile, and to walk with her thus, hand in hand, along a sun warmed, flower bordered path.
Will it be here that we shall find a place which will not elude us, or which if it remains does not exert on us a culpable attraction? Or must we, leaning over the deck and watching the shores glide b...
One can always find hands for a work of destruction.
He let Julius go. There was beginning to rise in him a feeling of profound disgust--a kind of hatred almost, of himself, of Julius, of everything.
There is a germ of revolt lying in the spirit of inquiry and critical curiosity.
Those who complimented me were those who understood me the least.
Poverty makes a slave out of men. In order to eat he will accept work that gives no pleasure.
I say, "it seemed to me," for from the depths of my past childhood, there now awoke in me the glimmerings of a thousand lost sensations. The fact that I was once more aware of my senses enabled me to...
Because it was natural, could he not see that it was marvelous? Poor creature!
