Writing about an idea frees me of it. Thinking about it is a circle of repetitions.
Unlike other vices, cruelty, alas, is never boring.
Every time I change the way I explain myself to myself, I have to rearrange the story of my life.
A quick smile is more seductive than a slinky dress.
By multiplying ironies, I evade commitments.
Guilt stirs me, but only to self-pity.