“What is absurd and monstrous about war is that men who have no personal quarrel should be trained to murder one another in cold blood.”
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It's with bad sentiments that one makes good novels.
Man approaches the unattainable truth through a succession of errors.
Great is truth, but still greater, from a practical point of view, is silence about truth. By simply not mentioning certain subjects... totalitarian propagandists have influenced opinion much more effectively than they could have by the most eloquent denunciations.
Perhaps it's good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he's happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life?