Anxiety is love's greatest killer, because it is like the stranglehold of the drowning.

All the art of analysis consists in saying a truth only when the other person is ready for it, has been prepared for it by an organic process of gradation and evolution.

Now that I am moving, I am afraid. Where am I going?

Not afraid of poverty and drabness and who is untouched by it, untouched by the drunkenness of her friends; (she) who judges, selects, discards people with severity, who knows, when she is telling her endless anecdotes, that they are ways of escape, keeping herself all the more secret behind that profuse talk.

While analyzing so many people I realized the constant need of a mother, or a father, or a god (the same thing) is really immaturity. It is a childish need, a human need, but so universal that I can see how it gave birth to all religions.

New York seems conducted by jazz, animated by it. It is essentially a city of rhythm.

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