We do not know the true value of our moments until they have undergone the test of memory. Like the images the photographer plunges into a golden bath, our sentiments take on color; and only then, after that recoil and that trans-figuration, do we understand their real meaning and enjoy them in all their tranquil splendor.

Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.

To drink is a small matter. To be thirsty is everything.

You conquered the landscape with the soles of shoes, not the tires.

In the beds which the piety of the public has prepared on every side, stricken men await the verdict of fate.

There is no French town in which the wounds inflicted on the battle-field are not bleeding.

I have too much respect for the idea of God to make it responsible for such an absurd world.