There is no such thing as an ideal man. The ideal man is the man you love at the moment.

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

Every little girl knows about love. It is only her capacity to suffer because of it that increases.

What you call types of mind are only mental ages.

I've tried very hard and I've never found any resemblance between the people I know and the people in my novels.

Houses are for private living, for friends, and for dogs.

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.