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

Indeed, men never know how to love. nothing satisfies them. All they know is to dream, to imagine new duties, to look for new countries and new homes. While we women, we know that we must hasten to love, to share the same bed, hold hands, and fear absence. When we women love, we dream of nothing.

And for all his life it would be kindness and love that made him cry, never pain or persecution, which on the contrary only reinforced his spirit and his resolution.

True artists scorn nothing.

One dies if necessary, one breaks rather than bending. But I bend, because I continue to love myself.

Conscious of not being able to separate myself from my time, I have decided to become part of it.

We turn toward God only to obtain the impossible.