God! Is there anything uglier than a frightened man!
Everything ends this way in France — everything. Weddings, christenings, duels, burials, swindlings, diplomatic affairs — everything is a pretext for a good dinner.
There is love of course. And then there's life, its enemy.
Until the day of his death no man can be sure of his courage.
Tragedy is clean, it is restful, it is flawless.
I don't want people to love me. It makes for obligations.