To say that my grief will be eternal would be ridiculous - nothing is eternal.
Life, that is Paris! Paris, that is life!
Nothing is ever so good or so bad in reality as it is in the anticipation.
one life would not suffice, mine especially. To touch everything and leave nothing after oneself! Ah! my God! I hope better than that. Ah! I am very cowardly, and under the blow of such a terror I am ready to believe in priests.
... I will never love, for I should never be loved as I desire to be loved.
To live, to have so much ambition, to suffer, to cry, to fight and, at the end, forgetfulness ... as if I had never existed.