The important thing isn't the soundness or otherwise of the argument, but for it to make you think.
Happiness is generous. It does not subsist on destruction.
Ah cher ami, how poor in invention men are! They are They always think one commits suicide for a reason. But it's quite possible to commit suicide for two reasons. No, that never occurs to them. So what's the good of dying intentionally, of sacrificing yourself to the idea you want people to have of you? Once you are dead, they will take advantage of it to attribute idiotic or vulgar motives to your action. Martyrs, cher ami, must choose between being forgotten, mocked, or made use of. As for being understood--never!
It is a well-known fact that we always recognize our homeland at the moment we are about to lose it.
We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking.
It is not your paintings I like, it is your painting.
Those who prefer their principles over their happiness, they refuse to be happy outside the conditions they seem to have attached to their happiness.
Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?
Thinking is learning all over again how to see, directing one's consciousness, making of every image a privileged place.
The harshest winter finds an invincible summer in us.
There is no more futile punishment than futile and hopeless labor.
A true masterpiece does not tell everything.
Only it takes time to be happy. A lot of time. Happiness, too, is a long patience.
There was a time when I didn’t at any minute have the slightest idea how I could reach the next one. Yes, one can wage war in this world, ape love, torture one’s fellow man, or merely say evil of one’s neighbour while knitting. But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman.
Man cannot do without beauty, and this is what our era pretends to want to disregard.
People don't love each other at our age, Marthe—they please each other, that's all. Later on, when you're old and impotent, you can love someone. At our age, you just think you do. That's all it is.
…there's no question of heroism in all this. It's a matter of common decency. That's an idea which may make some people smile, but the only means of fighting a plague is - common decency.
It's a kind of spiritual snobbery that makes people think they can be happy without money.
No ends, simply means.
Truth, like light, blinds. Falsehood, on the contrary, is a beautiful twilight that enhances every object.
Healthy people have a natural skill of avoiding feverish eyes.
The mind's deepest desire, even in its most elaborate operations, parallels man's unconscious feeling in the face of his universe: it is an insistence upon familiarity, an appetite for clarity.
On the ridge where the great artist moves forward, every step is an adventure, an extreme risk. In that risk, however, and only there, lays the freedom of Art.
This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. Forever I shall be a stranger to myself.
Does the end justify the means? That is possible. But what will justify the end? To that question, which historical thought leaves pending, rebellion replies: the means.
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