I am not feeling any better because I cannot stay in bed, having constant cause for walking. They say I leave at night by the window of my tower, hanging from a red umbrella with which I set fire to the forest!

I am in no mood to be deceived any longer by the crafty devil and false character whose greatest pleasure is to take advantage of everyone.

Madhouses are houses made on purpose to cause suffering . . . I cannot stand any longer the screams of these creatures.

I have been back in Paris for two weeks. Nothing new. Life is still bitter.

Send me one hundred francs on our future deals, otherwise I will disappear in a cataclysm.

You know what black hatred women feel toward me as soon as they see me, until I return inside my shell, they use every possible weapon. As soon as a generous man tries to help me out, a woman is here to hold his arm and prevent him from acting.

If you are nice, and keep your promise, we will be in paradise.