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If you shut up truth, and bury it underground, it will but grow.
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Up to this day, there has been no proof of the existence of any intelligence other than the human.
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Every wave is a water sprite who swims in the current, each current is a path which snakes towards my palace, and my palace is fluidly built at the bottom of the lake, in the triangle of earth, fire and water.
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What will be the death of me are buillabaisses, food spiced with pimiento, shellfish, and a load of exquisite rubbish which I eat in disproportionate quantities.
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Lovers are made by a kiss.
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One forges one's style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
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When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.
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In Paris, everything's for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.
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If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
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The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous; it is indissolubly connected with the fate of men.
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Yes! live life with every fibre of one's being, surrender oneself to it, with no thoughts of rebellion, without deluding oneself that one can improve it and render it painless.
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The truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.
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The day is not far off when one ordinary carrot may be pregnant with revolution.
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Blow the candle out, I don't need to see what my thoughts look like.
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I defy you to find any real will, any reasoning force, outside of life. And everything is there; there is, in the world, no other will than this force which impels everything to life, a life even broader and higher.
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From the moment I start a new novel, life's just one endless torture. The first few chapters may go fairly well and I may feel there's still a chance to prove my worth, but that feeling soon disappears and every day I feel less and less satisfied.
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Why then should money be blamed for all the dirt and crimes it causes? For is love less filthy -- love which creates life?
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She might have liked to try to strangle him with those slender fingers of hers, but she wanted to make a job of it and this great patience with which she waited for her claws to grow was in itself a form of enjoyment.
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If something's just, I'll let myself be hacked to bits for it.
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My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.
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I am an artist... I am here to live out loud.
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I believe that the future of humanity is in the progress of reason through science. I believe that the pursuit of truth, through science, is the divine ideal which man should propose to himself.
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A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
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Over all crowds there seems to float a vague distress, an atmosphere of pervasive melancholy, as if any large gathering of people creates an aura of terror and pity.