Nothing that was real ever died, only names, forms, and illusions.

All modern philosophizing is political, policed by governments, churches, academics, custom, fashion, and human cowardice, all off which limit it to a fake learnedness.

We know nothing at all. All our knowledge is but the knowledge of schoolchildren. The real nature of things we shall never know.

Here life goes on, even and monotonous on the surface, full of lightning, of summits and of despair, in its depths. We have now arrived at a stage in life so rich in new perceptions that cannot be transmitted to those at another stage - one feels at the same time full of so much gentleness and so much despair - the enigma of this life grows, grows, drowns one and crushes one, then all of a sudden in a supreme moment of light one becomes aware of the sacred.

The opposite of an idealist is too often a man without love.

What was hard to suffer is sweet to remember.