Have you never been moved by poor men's fidelity, the image of you they form in their simple minds? Why should you always talk of their envy, without understanding that what they ask of you is not so much your worldly goods, as something very hard to define, which they themselves can put no name to; yet at times it consoles their loneliness; a dream of splendor, of magnificence, a tawdry dream, a poor man's dream -and yet God blesses it!

A thought which does not result in an action is nothing much, and an action which does not proceed from a thought is nothing at all.

What does the truth matter? Haven't we mothers all given our sons a taste for lies, lies which from the cradle upwards lull them, reassure them, send them to sleep: lies as soft and warm as a breast!

Suicide only really frightens those who are never tempted by it and never will be, for its darkness only welcomes those who are predestined to it.

When you think of the huge uninterrupted success of a book like Don Quixote, you're bound to realize that if humankind have not yet finished being revenged, by sheer laughter, for being let down in their greatest hope, it is because that hope was cherished so long and lay so deep!

God! how is it that we fail to recognize that the mask of pleasure, stripped of all hypocrisy, is that of anguish?

What does it matter, all is grace.