The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt as if he were being buried alive under his future.

Life is always either; a tight -rope or a feather-bed . — Give me the tightrope.

The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.

She gave so many reasons that I've forgotten them all.

Through this atmosphere of torrid splendor moved wan beings as richly upholstered as the furniture, beings without definite pursuits or permanent relations, who drifted on a languid tide of curiosity... Somewhere behind them, in the background of their lives there was doubtless a real past, yet they had no more real existence than the poet's shades in limbo.

The only thing to do is to hug one's friends tight and do one's job.

True originality consists not in a new manner but in a new vision. That new, that personal, vision is attained only by looking long enough at the object represented to make it the writer's own; and the mind which would bring this secret gem to fruition must be able to nourish it with an accumulated wealth of knowledge and experience.