At night, time becomes a calm sea. It goes on for ever.

We are torn between the craving to know and the despair of having known.

No one is more conventional than a woman who is falling out of love.

I recognize limitations in the sense that I've read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky and Shakespeare . . . Aside from that I don't think of limiting myself.

A love affair based on jealousy is doomed from the start ... It is certanly a sign of love, but it's a sign that it's already dying.

After Proust, there are certain things that simply cannot be done again. He marks off for you the boundaries of your talent.

I've often found myself preferring second-rate people to supposedly superior people, simply and solely because of their uncontrollable tendency to bang themselves against the sides of life's vast lampshade like fireflies or moths.