In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
To grow old is to pass from passion to compassion.
Alas, after a certain age every man is responsible for his face.
Our civilization survives in the complacency of cowardly or malignant minds -- a sacrifice to the vanity of aging adolescents
The more I produce, the less I am certain. On the road along which the artist walks, night falls ever more densely. Finally, he dies blind.
Old women even forget how to love their sons. The heart gets worn out, Monsieur.
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