He has, like me, a sense of smell. I let him inhale me, then I slip away.

All unlived emotions turn to inanity.

The real wonders of life lie in the depths. Exploring the depths for truths is the real wonder which the child and the artist know: magic and power lie in truth.

Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.

The truly faithless one is the one who makes love to only a fraction of you. And denies the rest.

When I hear of people who weary of each other, I believe it is because they have sought virtues in themselves alone, attractions of physical beauty. Have they based their love on each other's thoughts? Who can weary of thoughts which change every day?

I only regret that everybody wants to deprive me of the journal, which is the only steadfast friend I have, the only one which makes my life bearable, because my happiness with human beings is so precarious, my confiding moods rare, and the least sign of non-interest is enough to silence me. In the journal I am at ease.