I like prostitution. My heart has never failed to pound at the sight of one of those provocatively dressed women walking in the rain under the gaslamps, just as the sight of monks in their robes and girdles touches some ascetic, hidden corner of my soul.

Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

Stupidity consists in wanting to reach conclusions. We are a thread, and we want to know the whole cloth.

But some day sooner or later our passion would have cooled - inevitably - it's the way with everything human.

There are in me, in literary terms, two distinct characters: one who is taken with roaring, with lyricism, with soaring aloft, with all the sonorities of phrase and summits of thought; and the other who digs and scratches for truth all he can, who is as interested in the little facts as the big ones, who would like to make you feel materially the things he reproduces.

On certain occasions art can shake very ordinary spirits, and whole worlds can be revealed by its clumsiest interpreters.

Everything is there: the love of Art.