To realise one's nature perfectly—that is what each of us is here for.
I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have searched for pleasure.
He was prisoned in thought. Memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away.
The rich would have spoken on the value of thrift and the idle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour.
She is all the great heroines of the world in one.
Fantastic shadows of birds.
I would give my soul for that!
Passion makes one think in a circle.
I feel I must come with you. And will you talk to me all the time? No one talks so wonderfully as you do.
The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves.
Through vanity he had spared her.
We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography.
Besides, women were better suited to bear sorrow than men.
Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.
If the caveman had known how to laugh, history would have been different.
He says things that annoy me. He gives me good advice.
We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices.
Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about.
What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the canvas.
They have been through the fire, and what fire does not destroy, it hardens. She has had experiences.
Each man lived his own life, and paid his own price for living it.
Iridescent with fancy and winged it with paradox.
Ones own soul, and the passions of one’s friends—those were the fascinating things in life.
I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves.