He's satisfied with himself. If you have a soul you can't be satisfied.

I had to touch you with my hands, I had to taste you with my tongue; one can't love and do nothing.

Oh well, perhaps when you're my age you'll know the heart is an untrustworthy beast.The mind too,but it doesn't talk about love.

The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity.

A ruling passion gives to a shelf of novels the unity of a system.

All good novelists have bad memories.

I had very good dentures once. Some magnificent gold work. It's the only form of jewelry a man can wear that women fully appreciate.