In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
To grow old is to pass from passion to compassion.
Alas, after a certain age every man is responsible for his face.
Our civilization survives in the complacency of cowardly or malignant minds -- a sacrifice to the vanity of aging adolescents
Old women even forget how to love their sons. The heart gets worn out, Monsieur.
The more I produce, the less I am certain. On the road along which the artist walks, night falls ever more densely. Finally, he dies blind.
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