I love the night. I love to feel the tide of darkness rising, slowly and slowly washing, turning over and over, lifting, floating, all that lies strewn upon the dark beach, all that lies hid in rocky hollows.

Warm, eager, living life-to be rooted in life-to learn, to desire, to know, to feel, to think, to act. This is what I want. And nothing less. That is what I must try for.

Regret is an appalling waste of energy, and no one who intends to be a writer can afford to indulge in it.

What do you want most to do? That's what I have to keep asking myself, in the face of difficulties.

I want, by understanding myself, to understand others.

there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don't mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one's breathing.

The whole world shall be ours because of our love.