Fretting At Trouble Only Doubles It.

Age Continually Alters The Faces Of Those Who Think Or Study, And So Their Portraits Differ From One Another And Don't Even Resemble Them For Very Long. I Dream So Much And Live So Little That I'm Sometimes Only Three Years Old. But The Next Day I'm Three Hundred, If The Dream Has Been Sombre.

Art Belongs To All Times And To All Countries; Its Special Benefit Is Precisely To Be Still Living When Everything Else Seems Dying; That Is Why Providence Shields It From Too Personal Or Too General Passions, And Grants It A Patient And Persevering Organization, Durable Sensibility, And The Contemplative Sense In Which Lies Invincible Faith.

Humanity Is Outraged In Me And With Me. We Must Not Dissimulate Nor Try To Forget This Indignation, Which Is One Of The Most Passionate Forms Of Love.

Life Is A Slate Where All Our Sins Are Written; From Time To Time We Rub The Sponge Of Repentance Over It So We Can Begin Sinning Again.

We Must Love Stupid People Better Than Ourselves; Are They Not The Really Unfortunate Ones Of This World? Do Not People Without Taste And Without Ideal Grow Constantly Weary, Rejoicing In Nothing, And Being Quite Useless Here Below?