In Oran, as elsewhere, for want of time and thought, people have to love one another without knowing it.

A man is more a man through the things he keeps to himself than through those he says.

In a universe suddenly divested of illusion and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land.

Human relationships always help us to carry on because they always presuppose a future.

In order to be created, a work of art must first make use of the dark forces of the soul

There are plagues, and there are victims, and it's the duty of good men not to join forces with the plagues.

After awhile you could get used to anything.