Success as I see it is a result, not a goal.

The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.

I go from exasperation to a state of collapse, then I recover and go from prostration to Fury, so that my average state is one of being annoyed.

There comes a point at which you stop writing and think all the more

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

Madame Aubain's servant Felicite was the envy of the ladies of Pont-l'Eveque for half a century.

The public wants work which flatters its illusions.