Phantoms in general are nothing more than trifling disorders of the spirit; images we cannot contain within the bounds of sleep.

Women are like dreams, they are never the way you would like to have them.

It is misery, you know, unspeakable misery for the man who lives alone and who detests sordid, casual affairs; not old enough to do without women, but not young enough to be able to go and look for one without shame!

Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the unspeakable things that go on in the heart.

Personally, I don't give a rap for documents; for the truth in my eyes is not in them but in the mind.

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

We all have a world of things inside ourselves and each one of us has his own private world. How can we understand each other if the words I use have the sense and the value that I expect them to have, but whoever is listening to me inevitably thinks that those same words have a different sense and value, because of the private world he has inside himself, too.