Not caring for their lives' is it? Why, what in the world is there that we should care for if it's not our lives, the only gift the Lord never offers us a second time.

Love is not vain because it is frustrated, but because it is fulfilled. The people we love turn to ashes when we posess them.

When we are in love, our love is too big a thing for us to be able altogether to contain it within ourselves. It radiates towards the loved one, finds there a surface which arrests it, forcing it to return to its starting-point, and it is this repercussion of our own feeling which we call the other's feelings and which charms us more then than on its outward journey because we do not recognise it as having originated in ourselves.

Most of our faculties lie dormant because they can rely upon Habit, which knows what there is to be done and has no need of their services.

We have such numerous interests in our lives that it is not uncommon, on a single occasion, for the foundations of a happiness that does not yet exist to be laid down alongside the intensification of a grief from which we are still suffering.

Everything great in the world comes from neurotics. They alone have founded our religions and composed our masterpieces.

Our intonations contain our philosophy of life, what each of us is constantly telling himself about things.