When you wept it was just over yourself and not because of the marvelous impossibility of reaching her through the difference that separates you.

That she had so completely recovered her sanity was a source of sadness to her. One should never be cured of one's passion.

She says people ought to learn to live like them, with the body abandoned in a wilderness, and in the mind the memory of a single kiss, a single word, a single look to stand for a whole love.

Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met.

In a certain state of mind, all trace of feeling is banished. Whenever I remain silent in a certain way, I don't love you, have you noticed that?

The solitude of writing is a solitude without which writing could not be produced, or would crumble, drained bloodless by the search for something else to write.

The best way to fill time is to waste it.