The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.
There is no truth. There is only perception.
Madame Bovary is myself.
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return.
Casting aspersions on those we love always does something to loosen our ties. We shouldn't maltreat our idols: the gilt comes off on our hands.
The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.