Everything that belonged to her husband made her weep again: his tasseled slippers, his pajamas under the pillow, the space of his absence in the dressing table mirror, his own odor on her skin. A vague thought made her shudder: "The people one loves should take all their things with them when they die.

Surrealism runs through the streets.

A famous writer who wants to continue writing has to be constantly defending himself against fame.

Sex is one's consolation when love is not enough

They were so close to each other that they preferred death to separation.

No matter what you do this year or in the next hundred, you will be dead forever.

No medicine cures what happiness cannot.