The creation of the world did not occur at the beginning of time, it occurs every day.

Masterpieces are no more than the shipwrecked flotsam of great minds.

A little insomnia is not without its value in making us appreciate sleep, in throwing a ray of light upon that darkness.

Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.

Perhaps the pleasure one feels in writing is not the infallible test of the literary value of a page; perhaps it is only a secondary state which is often superadded, but the want of which can have no prejudicial effect on it. Perhaps some of the greatest masterpieces were written while yawning.

The memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment.

Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.