Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned.
Secrets are rarely betrayed or discovered according to any programme our fear has sketched out. Fear is almost always haunted by terrible dramatic scenes, which recur in spite of the best-argued probabilities against them.
Sand keeps secrets better than mud.
Private chagrins are still more dreadful than public calamities.[Les chagrins secrets sont encore plus cruels que les misères publiques.]
Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can – that is their secret.
None of us ever know all the possible courses our lives could have, and maybe should have, taken. It’s probably just as well. Some secrets are meant to stay secret forever.
No one ever keeps a secret so well as a child.[Personne ne garde un secret comme un enfant.]
My dear, there is no universal secret. There’s only the secret each writer discovers for herself. The path forward.
It’s not a confession if no one reads it. It’s just an unshared secret.
It is a corrupting thing to live one’s real life in secret. One should live with the stream of life, not against it.
I’d learned that some things are best kept secret.
For the secret of man’s being is not only to live but to have something to live for.[Ибо тайна бытия человеческого не в том, чтобы только жить, а в том, для чего жить.]