The whole dream of democracy is to raise the proletarian to the level of stupidity attained by the bourgeois.

She remembered the heroines of novels she had read, and the lyrical legion of those adulterous women began to sing in her memory with sisterly voices that enchanted her. Now she saw herself as one of those amoureuses whom she had so envied: she was becoming, in reality, one of that gallery of fictional figures; the long dream of her youth was coming true.

What is the beautiful, if not the impossible.

Let us not kid ourselves; let us remember that literature is of no use whatever, except in the very special case of somebody's wishing to become, of all things, a Professor of Literature.

Happiness is a monstrosity! Punished are those who seek it.

The great natures which are good, are above everything generous and don't begrudge the giving of themselves.

Me and my books in the same apartment, like a gherkin in its vinegar.