Güzel duygularla kötü edebiyat yapılır.

[...] je ne savais rien exprimer du transport nouveau de mon cœur; mais je pressais sa tête contre mon cœur et sur son front mes lèvres par où mon âme s'écoulait.

Most people believe it is only by constraint they can get any good out of themselves, and so they live in a state of psychological distortion. It is his own self that each of them is most afraid of resembling. Each of them sets up a pattern and imitates it; he doesn't even choose the pattern he imitates: he accepts a pattern that has been chosen for him. And yet I verily believe there are other things to be read in man. But people don't dare to - they don't dare to turn the page. Laws of imitation! Laws of fear, I call them. The fear of finding oneself alone - that is what they suffer from - and so they don't find themselves at all. I detest such moral agoraphobia - the most odious cowardice I call it. Why, one always has to be alone to invent anything - but they don't want to invent anything. The part in each of us that we feel is different from other people is just the part that is rare, the part that makes our special value - and that is the very thing people try to suppress. They go on imitating. And yet they think they love life.

Etre aimé n'est rien, c'est être préféré que je désire.

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I am lost if I attempt to take count of chronology. When I think over the past, I am like a person whose eyes cannot properly measure distances and is liable to think things extremely remote which on examination prove to be quite near.

არა მგონია, რომ დღეს რომელიმე სხვა ქვეყანაში, ჰიტლერულ გერმანიაშიც კი, ცნობიერება ასეთი არათავისუფალი, უფრო შევიწროებულ-დაბეჩავებული, უფრო დაშინებული (ტერორიზებული), უფრო დამონებული იყოს, როგორიც საბჭოთა კავშირშია

هیچ چیز به اندازه خاطره خوشبختی مانع
خوشبختی نیست
(رذل)

I had resigned my temporary lectureship — thankless, dreary work, from which I would be suddenly distracted by the slightest song, the slightest sound coming from the country outside; in every passing cry I heard an invitation. How often I have leapt from my reading and run to the window to see — nothing pass by! How often I have hurried out of doors. . . The only attention I found possible was that of my five senses.

El hombre no puede descubrir nuevos océanos a menos que tenga el coraje de perder de vista la costa.

The self requires a story.