Beauty, real beauty, is something very grave. If there is a God, He must be partly that.

Death has to be waiting at the end of the ride before you truly see the earth, and feel your heart, and love the world.

Tragedy is restful: and the reason is that hope, that foul, deceitful thing, has no part in it.

In your efforts to dazzle us your reasoning has gone awry. You know very well that love is, above all, the gift of oneself.

God! Is there anything uglier than a frightened man!

Believe me; all evil comes from the old. They grow fat on ideas and young men die of them.

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.