But when one believes in the reality of things, making them visible by artificial means is not quite the same as feeling that they are close at hand.

We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.

We do not succeed in changing things according to our desire, but gradually our desire changes.

My dear Madame, I just noticed that I forgot my cane at your house yesterday; please be good enough to give it to the bearer of this letter. P.S. Kindly pardon me for disturbing you; I just found my cane.

Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us.

We feel in one world, we think and name in another. Between the two we can set up a system of references, but we cannot fill in the gap.

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