Sharp nostalgia, infinite and terrible, for what I already possess.

I do not cut my life up into days but my days into lives, each day, each hour, an entire life.

Rodin picks a mushroom delighted, and shows it to Madame Rodin... "Look," he says excitedly, "and that takes but a single night! In one night all these are made, all these lamellas. That is good work."

Every country should realize that its turn at world domination, domination because its rights coincided more or less with the character or progress of the epoch, must terminate with the change brought about by this progress.

…Perhaps this momentary life of ours is only the light that divides our infinite origin from our infinite end.

I am not I. I am this one walking beside me whom I do not see, whom at times I manage to visit, and whom at other times I forget; who remains calm and silent while I talk, and forgives, gently, when I hate, who walks where I am not, who will remain standing when I die.

If they give you ruled paper, write the other way.