The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.

Everything, even herself, was now unbearable to her. She wished that, taking wing like a bird, she could fly somewhere, far away to regions of purity, and there grow young again.

Boredom, that silent spider, was spinning its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.

Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

It's a delicious thing to write. To be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating.

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.

Everything depends on the value we give to things. We are the ones who make morality and virtue. The cannibal who eats his neighbor is as innocent as the child who sucks his barley-sugar.