The truth is that nothing is less sensational than pestilence, and by reason of their very duration great misfortunes are monotonous.

Only the sea, murmurous behind the dingy checkerboard of houses, told of the unrest, the precariousness, of all things in this world.

In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.

In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

Ce que je sais de la morale, c'est au football que je le dois. (I know of morality, it is football that I owe.)

Some other memories of the funeral have stuck in my mind. The old boy’s face, for instance, when he caught up with us for the last time, just outside the village. His eyes were streaming with tears, of exhaustion or distress, or both together. But because of the wrinkles they couldn’t flow down. They spread out, crisscrossed, and formed a smooth gloss on the old, worn face.

People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves.