To two men living the same number of years, the world always provides the same sum of experiences. It is up to us to be conscious of them.

We're going forward, but nothing changes.

... there are two types of happiness and I have chosen that of the murderers. For I am happy. There was a time when I thought I had reached the limit of distress. Beyond that limit, there is a sterile and magnificent happiness.

Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.

Nothing in the world is worth turning one's back on what one loves.

Believe me, for certain men at least, not taking what one doesn't desire is the hardest thing in the world.

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads?