New York City is a great apartment hotel in which everyone lives and no one is at home.

There must always be some pretentiousness about literature, or else no one would take its pains or endure its disappointments.

Life goes on and on after one's luck has run out. Youthfulness persists, alas, long after one has ceased to be young.

It is not love, but lack of love which is blind.

People as a rule do mean much more than they understand.

New York City is a great apartment hotel in which everyone lives and no one is at home.

But let us laugh carelessly like other men. Let us be timid even among fools. Let us knot silence around our throats. For they would surely kill us.