The words emerge from her body without her realizing it, as if she were being visited by the memory of a language long forsaken.

He says he’s lonely, horribly lonely because of this love he feels for her. She says she’s lonely too. She doesn’t say why.

It's afterwards you realize that the feeling of happiness you had with a man didn't necessarily prove that you loved him.

It's only women who are not really quite women at all, frivolous women who have no idea, who neglect repairs.

Oh, how good it is to be with someone, sometimes.

Alcohol doesn't console, it doesn't fill up anyone's psychological gaps, all it replaces is the lack of God. It doesn't comfort man. On the contrary, it encourages him in his folly, it transports him to the supreme regions where he is master of his own destiny.

People come to Paris, to the capital, to give their lives a sense of belonging, of an almost mythical participation in society.