The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.

Every kiss provokes another. Oh, in those earliest days of love how naturally the kisses spring to life! So closely, in their profusion, do they crowd together that lovers would find it as hard to count the kisses exchanged in an hour as to count the flowers in a meadow in May.

Perfume is that last and best reserve of the past, the one which when all out tears have run dry, can make us cry again!

The one thing more difficult than following a regime is keeping from imposing it on others.

Instead of seeking new landscapes, develop new eyes.

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

In a language known to us, we have substituted the opacity of the sounds with the transparence of the ideas. But a language we donot know is a closed place in which the one we love can deceive us, making us, locked outside and convulsed in our impotence, incapable of seeing or preventing anything.