As things are, and as fundamentally they must always be, poetry is not a career, but a mug’s game. No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: He may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.
Most of us believe in trying to make other people happy only if they can be happy in ways which we approve.
A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance.
We name time when we say: every thing has its time. This means: everything which actually is, every being comes and goes at the right time and remains for a time during the time allotted to it. Every thing has its time.
I cannot follow you Christians; for you try to crawl through your life upon your knees, while I stride through mine on my feet.
Every man is born as many men and dies as a single one.
The soul is so far from being a monad that we have not only to interpret other souls to ourself but to interpret ourself to ourself.
Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.
Every man of genius is considerably helped by being dead.
People to whom nothing has ever happened cannot understand the unimportance of events.