Man is a mind betrayed, not served, by his organs.
Genius is the talent of a person who is dead.
The English are crooked as a nation and honest as individuals. The contrary is true of the French, who are honest as a nation and crooked as individuals.
Sickness sensitizes man for observation, like a photographic plate.
Princes enjoy themselves like children in the company of ordinary human beings.
Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists... When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.