The perpetual hunger to be beautiful and that thirst to be loved which is the real curse of Eve.

All of a writer that matters is in the book or books. It is idiotic to be curious about the person.

before I could read, almost a baby, I imagined that God, this strange thing or person I heard about, was a book.

Stephan was secretive and a liar, but he was a very gentle and expert lover. She was the petted, cherished child, the desired mistress, the worshipped, perfumed goddess. She was all these things to Stephan - or so he made her believe.

Today I must be very careful, today I have left my armor at home.

One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.

The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.