Memory is a great betrayer.

I love your silences, they are like mine.

[On Paris:] A city never entirely known, yet which gives you the feeling of intimacy, of possessing it intimately.

How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself.

she acquired the certainty of the expansion of time by depth of emotion, range and infinite multiplicity of experience.

The love of only one man or one woman is an enclosure.

What you burnt, broke, and tore is still in my hands. I am the keeper of fragile things and I have kept of you what is indissoluble.