Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists... When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
The reason for the sadness of this modern age and the men who live in it is that it looks for the truth in everything and finds it.
A painting in a museum hears more ridiculous opinions than anything else in the world.
Man is a mind betrayed, not served, by his organs.
If there is a God, atheism must seem to Him as less of an insult than religion.