Psychoanalysis is out, under a therapeutic disguise, to do away entirely with the moral faculty in man.

She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.

The goal is to know how not-to-know.

The weakness of modern tragedy[is that] transgression against the social code is made to bring destruction, as though the social code worked our irrevocable fate.

To every man who struggles with his own soul in mystery, a book that is a book flowers once, and seeds, and is gone.

Lies About Love We are all liars, because The truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, Whereas letters are fixed, and we live by the letter of truth. The love I feel for my friend, this year, is different from the love I felt last year. If it were not so, it would be a lie. Yet we reiterate love! love! love! as if it were a coin with fixed value instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

She herself had never been able to be altogether herself: it had been denied her.