How can we have the courage to wish to live, how can we make a movement to preserve ourselves from death, in a world where love is provoked by a lie and consists solely in the need of having our sufferings appeased by whatever being has made us suffer?

Wars are fought for the benefit of oligarchs, triumphs bought with the blood of peons.

Indeed, among the lesser auxiliaries to success in love, an absence, the declining of an invitation to dinner, an unintentional, unconscious harshness are of more service than all the cosmetics and fine clothes in the world.

Our intonations contain our philosophy of life, what each of us is constantly telling himself about things.

It comes so soon, the moment when there is nothing left to wait for.

We can only be faithful to what we remember, and we remember only what we have known.

The character we exhibit in the latter half of our life need not necessarily be, though it often is, our original character, developed further, dried up, exaggerated, or diminished. It can be its exact opposite, like a suit worn inside out.