These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their own kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean.

It is not love that is blind, but jealousy.

Of women, the most we can say, not being Frenchmen, is that they are burrowing animals.

Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other.

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.

Shyness has laws you can only give yourself; tragically to those who least understand.

Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me, and then show me the place where he was hanged.