Forgotten is forgiven.

The history of my life is the history of the struggle between an overwhelming urge to write and a combination of circumstances bent on keeping me from it.

There was even a recurrent idea in America about an education that would leave out history and the past, that should be a sort of equipment for aerial adventure, weighed down by none of the stowaways of inheritance or tradition.

You remind me of a smoked cigarette.

I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.

Those days are over. I have to be won all over again every time you see me.

She wanted to exist only as a conscious flower, prolonging and preserving herself