Childhood is not only the childhood we really had but also the impressions we formed of it in our adolescence and maturity. That is why childhood seems so long. Probably every period of life is multiplied by our reflections upon the next.

There comes a day when, for someone who has persecuted us, we feel only indifference, a weariness at his stupidity. Then we forgive him.

If it were possible to have a life absolutely free from every feeling of sin, what a terrifying vacuum it would be.

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

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

Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one's own pleasure is shared.

The only way to escape the abyss is to look at it, gauge it, sound it out and descend into it.