To grow old is to pass from passion to compassion.

Great feelings take with them their own universe, splendid or abject. They light up with their passion an exclusive world in which they recognize their climate.

Death means nothing to men like me. It's the event that proves them right.

It's a kind of spiritual snobbery that makes people think they can be happy without money.

A person I knew used to divide human beings into three categories: those who prefer to have nothing to hide rather than being obliged to lie, those who prefer lying to having nothing to hide, and finally those who like both lying and the hidden.

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.

My dear friend, we mustn't give them even the slightest excuse to judge us! Otherwise, we end up in pieces.