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a book is one of the fonts of joy available to us
a good man is intelligent, and a bad man is also an idiot. Moral and intellectual characteristics go together
death is a life lived. Life is a death to come
doubt is one of the names of intelligence
dying is a habit that people have
every word has been, at sometime, a neologism
football is popular because stupidity is popular
for some communists, if you are an anticommunist, you are a fascist. This is so incomprehensible as to say that if you are not a catholic, you are a mormon
guilt lasts as long as the feeling of remorse
heaven and hell seem out of proportion to me: the actions of men do not deserve so much
I believe that some day we will deserve to be free of governments
I committed the worst sin ever: I was not happy
I don\'t drink alcohol. But not because of virtue, but because there is a drink which I like better, and that is water
I know nothing of today\'s literature. For some time now my contemporary writers have been the Greeks
I never intended to get close to the people with my writings. Actually, I never intended to get close to anybody
in general, every country has the language it deserves
in my times there were no best-sellers, and we could not prostitute ourselves. There was nobody wanting to buy our prostitution
it was his fate, as it is for all men, to live through hard times
let others brag about the pages they have written; I\'m proud of those I\'ve read
maybe Ethics is a science that has disappeared from the whole world. It does not matter, we will have to invent it again
nothing is built on stone; all is built on sand, but we must build as if the sand were stone
one is not what one is for that which one writes, but for that which one has read
patriotism is the least discerning of the passions
reality is what the majority sees as reality
the original is unfaithful to the translation
to arrange a library is a silent way of carrying on the art of critique
to love our enemies (as the Gospel asks) is not a job for men, but for angels
unfortunately, it is possible to be in love at the age of eighty. Actually, I write to forget about love
we are our own memory, we are that chimerical museum of changing shapes, that heap of broken mirrors
when you fall asleep, you forget yourself. And when you wake up, you remember yourself
where are you going, Ivan? I\'m going to Minsk. You lie, Ivan! You tell me you\'re going to Minsk to make me believe you\'re going to Moscow, but you\'re really going to Minsk. You lie, Ivan!