They came to know the incorrigible sorrow of all prisoners and exiles, which is to live in company with a memory that serves no purpose.

As the death of the writer exaggerates the role of his work, the death of a person exaggerates the role of his effect on us.

The most destitute men often end up by accepting illusion.

He had been unfair: while his imagination and vanity had given her too much importance, his pride had given her too little.

Without freedom, no art; art lives only on the restraints it imposes on itself, and dies of all others.

I opened myself up to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself.

I know that man is capable of great deeds. But if he isn't capable of great emotion, well, he leaves me cold.