Each interesting piece of knowledge, feeling or experience, if others don’t share it with me, is a mountain that separates me from those with whom I would like to join.

I usually carry around a quiet little chamber in my mind in this life; in it I live an isolated, separated, happy life interested in and loving some person, an idea, a science, or an art. Because I linger much too much in this cosy little corner, I am stupid and strange with the world and people, and am always too clumsy to treat them as one should.

I love immensely to see myself reflected in others; for I hope the other will let me see a more beautiful image than I see in myself.

[I]t seems so sweet to be loved by excellent people; to me it is the most flattering proof of my own value.