Love is space and time measured by the heart.

For everyone who, having no artistic sense-that is to say, no submission to subjective reality-may have the knack of reasoning about art till doomsday, especially if he be, in addition, a diplomat or financier in contact with the 'realities' of the present day, is only too ready to believe literature is an intellectual game which is destined to gradually be abandoned as time goes on.

Words do not change their meanings so drastically in the course of centuries as, in our minds, names do in the course of a year or two.

The world was not created once and for all time for each of us individually. There are added to it in the course of our life things of which we have never had any suspicion.

A cathedral, a wave of a storm, a dancer's leap, never turn out to be as high as we had hoped.

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.

That translucent alabaster of our memories.