I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.

I cheat him, I deceive him, yet the world does not sink in sulphur-colored mists. Madness conquers. I can no longer put my mosaics together. I just cry and laugh.

Love men and women not for their strength but their softness, not for their fullness but their hunger, not for their plenty but their need.

I am quite wiling to confide entirely in human being, except that at some moment or another human beings get preoccupied, moody, busy, inattentive, and there come an end to the interest, and this never happens in a journal!

Nature forms us for ourselves, not for others; to be, not to seem.

There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do.

I was thinking of my patients, and how the worst moment for them was when they discovered they were masters of their own fate. It was not a matter of bad or good luck. When they could no longer blame fate, they were in despair.