Only imagination and belief can differentiate from the rest certain objects, certain people, and can create an atmosphere.

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

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

But,instead of what our imagination makes us suppose and which we worthless try to discover,life gives us something that we could hardly imagine.

But to ask pity of our body is like discoursing in front of an octopus, for which our words can have no more meaning than the sound of the tides, and with which we should be appalled to find ourselves condemned to live.

Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.

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.