One can run away from anything but oneself.
Truth to tell, we are all criminals if we remain silent.
Only the person who has experienced light and darkness, war and peace, rise and fall, only that person has truly experienced life.
In history as in human life, regret does not bring back a lost moment and a thousand years will not recover something lost in a single hour.
Time to leave now, get out of this room, go somewhere, anywhere; sharpen this feeling of happiness and freedom, stretch your limbs, fill your eyes, be awake, wider awake, vividly awake in every sense and every pore.
Freedom is not possible without authority - otherwise it would turn into chaos and authority is not possible without freedom - otherwise it would turn into tyranny.
It is never until one realizes that one means something to others that one feels there is any point or purpose in one's own existence.
No guilt is forgotten so long as the conscience still knows of it.
All I know is that I shall be alone again. There is nothing more terrible than to be alone among human beings.
Happy people are poor psychologists.
Every wave, regardless of how high and forceful it crests, must eventually collapse within itself.
Health alone does not suffice. To be happy, to become creative, man must always be strengthened by faith in the meaning of his own existence.
He who studies without passion will never become anything more than a pedant.
The free, independent spirit who commits himself to no dogma and will not decide in favor of any party has no homestead on earth.
Life is futile unless it be directed towards a definite goal.
To grow old means to be rid of anxieties about the past.
One must be convinced to convince, to have enthusiasm to stimulate the others.
One never gets to know a person's character better than by watching his behavior during decisive moments.... It is always only danger which forces the most deeply hidden strengths and abilities of a human being to come forth.
There is nothing more vindictive, nothing more underhanded, than a little world that would like to be a big one.
Why is it that the stupidest people are always the most good-natured?
Memory is so corrupt that you remember only what you want to; if you want to forget about something, slowly but surely you do.
The works of the great artists are silent books of eternal truths.
Only the misfortune of exile can provide the in-depth understanding and the overview into the realities of the world.
For the more a man limits himself, the nearer he is on the other hand to what is limitless.
We live through myriads of seconds, yet it is always one, just one, that casts our entire inner world into turmoil, the second when (as Stendhal has described it) the internal inflorescence, already steeped in every kind of fluid, condenses and crystallizes—a magical second, like the moment of generation, and like that moment concealed in the warm interior of the individual life, invisible, untouchable, beyond the reach of feeling, a secret experienced alone. No algebra of the mind can calculate it, no alchemy of premonition divine it, and it can seldom perceive itself.
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