Do you know...what I think is a great pity? It is this: that we have all become such skeptics that we hardly believe what our pious grandmothers told us.

Within our whole universe the story only has the authority to answer that cry of heart of its characters, that one cry of heart of each of them: "Who am I?"

I felt that Paris was illuminated by a splendor possessed by no other places.

A poet's mission is to make others confound fiction and reality in order to render them, for an hour, mysteriously happy.

I have read true piety defined as: loving one’s destiny unconditionally – and there is something in it. That is to say: I think that in a way this sort of “religiousness” is the condition for real happiness.

It is not a bad thing in a tale that you understand only half of it.

Truth is for tailors and shoemakers. I, on the contrary, have always held that the Lord has a penchant for masquerades.