Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment.

Yes, I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness, sad as an eagle without wings, sad as a violin with only one string and that one broken, sad as a woman who is growing old. Sad, sad, sad.

You imagine the carefully pruned, shaped thing that is presented to you is truth. That is just what it isn't. The truth is improbable, the truth is fantastic; it's in what you think is a distorting mirror that you see the truth.

I often want to cry. That is the only advantage women have over men — at least they can cry.

If all good, respectable people had one face, I'd spit in it.

I want more of this feeling - fire and wings.

Some must cry so that others may be able to laugh the more heartily. Sacrifices are necessary.