Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.

Exuberance is better than taste.

What is beautiful is moral, that is all there is to it.

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.

Pleasure is found first in anticipation, later in memory.

One mustn't ask apple trees for oranges, France for sun, women for love, life for happiness.

… Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!