The one thing I regret is that I will never have time to read all the books I want to read.

All my life, I will continue obstinately to write about love, solitude and passion among the kind of people I know. The rest don't interest me.

I feel sorry for men. They have more problems than women, because they now have to compete with women.

pity is an agreeable sentiment, uplifting like military music.

One partner is always more in love than the other.

A Strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sorrow. The idea of sorrow has always appealed to me but now I am almost ashamed of it's complete egoism. I have known boredom, regret, and occasionally remorse, but never sorrow. Today it envelops me like a silken web, enervating and soft, and sets me apart from everybody else.

It isn't common sense that is paramount in this world, it's wishful thinking.