If I were to choose one single thing that that would restore Paris to the senses, it would be that strangely sweet, unhealthy smell of the Métro, so very unlike the dank cold or the stuffy heat of subways in New York.

The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.

It is possible, I suppose, that we are returning to a Dark Age. What is frightening is that violence is not only represented by nations, but everywhere walks among us freely.

Without anxiety life would have very little savor.

A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.

What is there to do when people die - people so dear and rare - but bring them back by remembering?

I am not a greedy person except about flowers and plants, and then I become fanatically greedy.