Why is it that my heart is so touched whenever I meet a dog lost in our noisy streets? Why do I feel such anguished pity when I see one of these creatures coming and going, sniffing everyone, frightened, despairing of even finding its master?

The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one's toes on the gravestones.

What will be the death of me are buillabaisses, food spiced with pimiento, shellfish, and a load of exquisite rubbish which I eat in disproportionate quantities.

Through the centuries, the history of peoples is but a lesson in mutual tolerance.

Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.

And that wreched creature without hands or feet, who had to be put to bed and fed like a child, that pitiable remnant of a man, whose almost vanished life was nothing more than one scream of pain, cried out in furious indignation: 'What a fool one must be to go and kill oneself!' " - 'Joy of Life

If I cannot overwhelm with my quality, I will overwhelm with my quantity.