I Detest My Fellow-beings And Do Not

He Was Bored Now When Emma Suddenly Began To Sob On His Breast; And His Heart, Like The People Who Can Only Stand A Certain Amount Of Music, Became Drowsy Through Indifference To The Vibrations Of A Love Whose Subtleties He Could No Longer Distinguish.

I Am Irritated By My Own Writing. I Am Like A Violinist Whose Ear Is True, But Whose Fingers Refuse To Reproduce Precisely The Sound He Hears Within.

He Had The Vanity To Believe Men Did Not Like Him – While Men Simply Did Not Know Him.

A Memory Is A Beautiful Thing, It's Almost A Desire That You Miss.

The More Humanity Advances, The More It Is Degraded.