The slowness of time, for a man who knows nothing will happen, is brutal.

Woman gives herself as a prize to the weak and as a prop to the strong and no man ever has what he should.

You don't remember days, you remember moments.

The search for a new personality is futile; what is fruitful is the interest the old personality can take in new activities.

Literature is a defense against the attacks of life. It says to life: You can't deceive me. I know your habits, foresee and enjoy watching all your reactions, and steal your secret by involving you in cunning obstructions that halt your normal flow.

One stops being a child when one realizes that telling one's trouble does not make it any better.

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.