A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies.

One day, I shall explode like an artillery shell and all my bits will be found on the writing table.

What an awful thing life is, isn’t it? It’s like soup with lots of hairs floating on the surface. You have to eat it nevertheless.

Each dream finds at last its form; there is a drink for every thirst, and love for every heart. And there is no better way to spend your life than in the unceasing preoccupation of an idea--of an ideal.

Maybe happiness too is a metaphor invented on a day of boredom

Life must be a constant education; one must learn everything, from speaking to dying.

Stupidity lies in wanting to draw conclusions.