It is not only by dint of lying to others, but also of lying to ourselves, that we cease to notice that we are lying.

The moments of the past do not remain still; they retain in our memory the motion which drew them towards the future, towards a future which has itself become the past, and draw us on in their train.

That translucent alabaster of our memories.

Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.

Let us leave pretty women to men devoid of imagination.

Neurosis has an absolute genius for malingering. There is no illness which it cannot counterfeit perfectly. If it is capable of deceiving the doctor, how should it fail to deceive the patient

For what we suppose to be our love or our jealousy is never a single, continuous and indivisible passion. It is composed of an infinity of successive loves, of different jealousies, each of which is ephemeral, although by their uninterrupted multiplicity they give us the impression of continuity, the illusion of unity.