Love...., ever unsatisfied, lives always in the moment that is about to come.

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.

It is the tragedy of other people that they are to us merely showcases for the very perishable collections of our own mind.

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

And wasn't my mind also like another crib in the depths of which I felt I remained ensconced, even in order to watch what was happening outside? When I saw an external object, my awareness that I was seeing it would remain between me and it, lining it with a thin spiritual border that prevented me from ever directly touching its substance; it would volatize in some way before I could make contact with it, just as an incandescent body brought near a wet object never touches its moisture because it is always preceded by a zone of evaporation.

I had come in time to learn that it was a mistake to smile a friendly smile when somebody made a fool of me.

Memory nourishes the heart, and grief abates.