Love lasts about seven years. That's how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.

He lifted me up and held me close against him, my head on his shoulder. At that moment I loved him. In the morning light he was as golden, as soft, as gentle as myself, and he would protect me.

Whisky, gambling and Ferraris are better than housework.

There are moments when you feel trapped, ill at ease. A year later the same feeling can turn out to be the theme of a book.

I did not find him absurd. I saw he was kind, that he was on the verge of real love. I thought it would be nice for me to be in love with him, too.

Every time I see a film about Joan of Arc I'm convinced she'll get away with it. It's the only way to get through life.

Looking for pleasure is the best way to ensure you won't find it.