When I look at my life and its secret colors, I feel like bursting into tears.

Why must one love rarely to love well?

If, after all, men cannot always make history have a meaning, they can always act so that their own lives have one.

Some people talk in their sleep. Lecturers talk while other people sleep.

But, you know, I feel more fellowship with the defeated than with saints. Heroism and sanctity don't really appeal to me, I imagine. What interests me is being a man.

I like people who dream or talk to themselves interminably; I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere.

Men who have greatness within them don't go in for politics.