… Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!

Women want you to deceive them: they force you to, and if you resist, they blame you.

I have the handicap of being born with a special language to which I alone have the key.

It’s hard to communicate anything exactly and that’s why perfect relationships between people are difficult to find.

May I die like a dog rather than hasten the ripening of a sentence by a single second!

And indeed, what is better than to sit by one's fireside in the evening with a book, while the wind beats against the window and the lamp is buring?

She wanted to die, but she also wanted to live in Paris.