A human being sheds its leaves like a tree. Sickness prunes it down; and it no longer offers the same silhouette to the eyes which loved it, to the people to whom it afforded shade and comfort.

That which, perhaps, hears more nonsense than anything in the world, is a picture in a museum.

History is a novel which did take place; a novel is history that could take place.

Only a woman of the world is a woman; the rest are females.

There are moments when, faced with our lack of success, I wonder whether we are failures, proud but impotent. One thing reassures me as to our value: the boredom that afflicts us. It is the hall-mark of quality in modern men.

Antiquity was perhaps created to provide professors with their bread and butter.

There are two infinities in this world: God up above, and down below, human baseness.