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

In bed my real love has always been the sleep that rescued me by allowing me to dream.

Man never reasons so much and becomes so introspective as when he suffers; since he is anxious to get at the cause of his sufferings, to learn who has produced them, and whether it is just or unjust that he should have to bear them.

When you say you are in love with humanity, you are well satisfied with yourself.

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.

I present myself to you in a form suitable to the relationship I wish to achieve with you.

Inevitably we construct ourselves. Let me explain. I enter this house and immediately I become what I have to become, what I can become: I construct myself. That is, I present myself to you in a form suitable to the relationship I wish to achieve with you. And, of course, you do the same with me.