There is always something missing that torments me.

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 sleep completely naked to make me believe you are here, but when I wake up it is not the same thing. Most of all, don't deceive me with other women any more.

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.

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

Sir Rodin convinced my parents to have me committed; they are all in Paris to arrange it.

I tolerate my faults but not at all other people's.