Noble characters and pure affections and happy scenes are very comforting things. They're a refuge from life's disillusionments.

Madame Bovary is myself.

I am an obscure and patient pearl-fisherman who dives into the deepest waters and comes up with empty hands and a blue face. Some fatal attraction draws me down into the abysses of thought, down into those innermost recesses which never cease to fascinate the strong. I shall spend my life gazing at the ocean of art, where others voyage or fight; and from time to time I’ll entertain myself by diving for those green and yellow shells that nobody will want. So I shall keep them for myself and cover the walls of my hut with them.

There are some men whose only mission among others is to act as intermediaries; one crosses them like bridges and keeps going.

Snicker on hearing his name: 'the gentleman who thinks we are descended from the apes.'

Me and my books in the same apartment, like a gherkin in its vinegar.

One mustn't ask apple trees for oranges, France for sun, women for love, life for happiness.