I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven't got the guts to bite people themselves.

That is the thankless position of the father in the family - the provider for all, and the enemy of all.

He liked the girls, liked to hold them around the waist, felt like a man when he did. But as for talking with them, no, no! Then he felt as though he were dealing with another species of human being, in some cases a higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired the weak, pale, little girl and had picked her to be his wife. That was still the only way he could think of a woman - as a wife. He danced in a very chaste and proper manner, but he heard awful stories about his pals, stories he didn't understand until later. They could dance the waltz backwards around the room in a very indecent way, and they told naughty stories about the girls.

I always disliked dogs, those protectors of cowards who lack the courage to fight an assailant themselves.

I hated her now with a hatred more fatal than indifference because it was the other side of love.

Happiness consumes itself like a flame. It cannot burn for ever, it must go out, and the presentiment of its end destroys it at its very peak.