She's got feet like boats, whiskers like an American, and her undies are filthy.

No man is a complete mystery except to himself.

Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years.

But,instead of what our imagination makes us suppose and which we worthless try to discover,life gives us something that we could hardly imagine.

Just as those who practice the same profession recognize each other instinctively, so do those who practice the same vice.

with one image he would make that beauty explode into me.

Habit is a second nature which prevents us from knowing the first, of which it has neither the cruelties nor the enchantments.