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.

The denigration of those we love always detaches us from them in some degree. Never touch your idols: the gilding will stick to your fingers.

In my view, the novelist has no right to express his opinions on the things of this world. In creating, he must imitate God: do his job and then shut up.

What wretched poverty of language! To compare stars to diamonds!

It is necessary to sleep upon the pillow of doubt.

It is splendid to be a great writer, to put men into the frying pan of your words and make them pop like chestnuts.

And he beholds the moon; like a rounded fragment of ice filled with motionless light.