What stops you killing yourself when you're intoxicated out of your mind is the thought that once you're dead you won't be able to drink any more.

Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.

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

Nowhere is one more alone than in Paris ... and yet surrounded by crowds. Nowhere is one more likely to incur greater ridicule. And no visit is more essential.

We’re in the vanguard of a nameless battle, a battle without arms or bloodshed or glory: we’re in the vanguard of waiting.

When it's in a book I don't think it'll hurt any more ...exist any more. One of the things writing does is wipe things out. Replace them.

In heterosexual love there's no solution. Man and woman are irreconcilable, and it's the doomed attempt to do the impossible, repeated in each new affair, that lends heterosexual love its grandeur.