The woman will sit eternally in the tall black armchair. I will be the one woman you will never have...excessive living weighs down the imagination: we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails.

Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky

Memory is a great betrayer.

The child who is uprooted begins to recognize that what he builds within himself is what will endure, what will withstand shattering experiences.

The self is merely the lens through which we see others and the world.

Women always think that when they have my shoes, my dress, my hairdresser, my makeup, it will all work the same way. They do not conceive of the witchcraft that is needed. They do not know that I am not beautiful but that I only appear to be at certain moments.

His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.