People living deeply have no fear of death.

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.

My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.

I reserve the right to love many different people at once, and to change my prince often.

Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.

Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living.