Criticism occupies the lowest place in the literary hierarchy: as regards form, almost always; and as regards moral value, incontestably. It comes after rhyming games and acrostics, which at least require a certain inventiveness.

Love, to her, was something hat comes suddenly, like a blinding flash of lightening - a heaven-sent storm hurled into life, uprooting it, sweeping every will before it like a leaf, engulfing all feelings.

(Egypt) is a great place for contrasts: splendid things gleam in the dust.

On spinach: I dislike it, and am happy to dislike it because if I liked it I would eat it, and I cannot stand it.

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

One can be the master of what one does, but never of what one feels.

Sometimes I think I'm liquefying like an old Camembert.