… 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!

One mustn't look at the abyss, because there is at the bottom an inexpressible charm which attracts us.

They took each other's advice, opened one book, went over to another, then did not know what to decide when opinions diverged so widely.

By trying to understand everything, everything makes me dream

Art is nothing without form.

We think of women at every age: while still children, we fondle with a naïve sensuality the breasts of those grown-up girls kissing us and cuddling us in their arms; at the age of ten, we dream of love; at fifteen, love comes along; at sixty, it is still with us, and if dead men in their tombs have any thought in their heads, it is how to make their way underground to the nearby grave, lift the shroud of the dear departed women, and mingle with her in her sleep

But some day sooner or later our passion would have cooled - inevitably - it's the way with everything human.