In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion; in order to serve others better, one has to hold them at a distance for a time. But where can one find the solitude necessary to vigor, the deep breath in which the mind collects itself and courage gauges its strength? There remain big cities.

The absurd hero's refusal to hope becomes his singular ability to live in the present with passion.

To stay or to go, it amounted to the same thing.

I was comfortable in all, I admit, but at the same time, nothing satisfied me. Each joy made me seek another.

The act of love . . . is a confession. Selfishness screams aloud, vanity shows off, or else true generosity reveals itself.

Wandering seemed no more than the happiness of an anxious man.

The only deep emotion I occasionally felt in these affairs was gratitude, when all was going well and I was left, not only peace, but freedom to come and go--never kinder and gayer with one woman than when I had just left another's bed, as if I extended to all others the debt I had just contracted toward one of them.