They flower spontaneously out of the demands of our natures - and the best of them lead us not only outward in space, but inward as well.

A diary is the last place to go if you wish to seek the truth about a person. Nobody dares to make the final confession to themselves on paper: or at least, not about love.

Whatever the heart desires, it purchases at the cost of soul

The national characteristics... the restless metaphysical curiosity, the tenderness of good living and the passionate individualism. This is the invisible constant in a place with which the ordinary tourist can get in touch just by sitting quite quietly over a glass of wine in a Paris bistro.

We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.

Let us define 'man' as a poet perpetually conspiring against himself.

What are stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?