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.

The stellar universe is not so difficult to understand as the real actions of other people, especially of the people with whom we are in love.

The sensitiveness claimed by neurotic is matched by their egotism: they cannot abide the flaunting by others of the sufferings to which they pay an even increasing amount of attention in themselves.

It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint, it is because we ourselves are dying.

Our desires cut across one another, and in this confused existence it is rare for happiness to coincide with the desire that clamoured for it.

People can have many different kinds of pleasure. The real one is that for which they will forsake the others.

The duty and the task of a writer are those of an interpreter.