That translucent alabaster of our memories.

Those whose suffering is due to love are, as we say of certain invalids, their own physicians.

We pack the physical outline of the creature we see with all the ideas we have already formed about him, and in the complete picture of him we compose in our minds those ideas have certainly the principal place.

All the mind's activity is easy if it is not subjected to reality.

According to a charming law of nature which is evident even in the most sophisticated societies, we live in complete ignorance of whatever we love.

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?

It has been said that beauty is a promise of happiness. Conversely, the possibility of pleasure can be a beginning of beauty.