[Charles de Gaulle] has been abysmally careless, like a man running a bus over mountains, who forgot to equip it with good brakes.
She had storms all her life, but she died peacefully.
I act as a sponge. I soak it up and squeeze it out in ink every two weeks.
When I hear a writer say that they ‘put in a call,’ I want to pull my hair out.
Women have invented nothing in all that, except the men who were born as male babies and grew up to be men big enough to be killed fighting.
In the history of art there are periods when bread seems so beautiful that it nearly gets into museums.