Man is what he wills himself to be.

Wait a minute, there's a snag somewhere; something disagreeable. Why, now, should it be disagreeable?...Ah,I see; it's life without a break.

We are in hell, my dear, there is never a mistake and people are not damned for nothing.

Hell is—other people!

Neither sex, without some fertilization of the complimentary characters of the other, is capable of the highest reaches of human endeavor.

Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.