Our ignorance of history causes us to slander our own times.

There are two infinities that confuse me: the one in my soul devours me; the one around me will crush me

It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on an autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes.

Years passed; and he endured the idleness of his intelligence and the inertia of his heart.

By dint of railing at idiots, one runs the risk of becoming an idiot oneself.

On certain occasions art can shake very ordinary spirits, and whole worlds can be revealed by its clumsiest interpreters.

Adultery ... could be as banal as marriage.