Art must take reality by surprise.

For this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.

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.

Passion is the salt of life, and that at the times when we are under its spell this salt is indispensable to us, even if we have got along very well without it before.

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

I had a strong desire to write and some free time.

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.