It is the hardest thing to close the open hand of someone you love.

Woman - for example, look at her case! She turns tantalizing inviting glances on you. You seize her. No sooner does she feel herself in your grasp than she closes her eyes. It is a sign of her mission, the sign by which she says to man: "Blind yourself, for I am blind."

Each of us when he appears before his fellows is clothed in a certain dignity. But every man knows what unconfessable things pass within the secrecy of his own heart.

There is someone who is living my life. And I know nothing about him.

The facts are to blame, my friend. We are all imprisoned by facts: I was born, I exist.

Blind yourself, for I am blind.

One cannot choose what he writes - one can only choose to face it.