Error is the price we pay for progress.

Is this love - this easy generosity$$$ this sense of being understood at last$$$ of not having to pretend?

In a world where death is the hunter$$$ my friend$$$ there is no time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions.

I will vanish in the morning light; I was only an invention of darkness.

Anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

All honor's wounds are self-inflicted.

Any fool can criticize$$$ complain$$$ and condemn — and most fools do. But it takes character and self-control to be understanding and forgiving.

Truly fertile music$$$ the only kind that will move us$$$ that we shall truly appreciate$$$ will be a music conducive to dream$$$ which banishes all reason and analysis. One must not wish first to understand and then to feel. Art does not tolerate reason.

You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.

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.