Your best work always seems to have been done by someone else.

We are never more self-righteous than when giving up what we should have shunned all along.

Hate leaves ugly scars, love leaves beautiful ones.

There's something in every atheist, itching to believe, and something in every believer, itching to doubt.

When we discuss those we love with those who do not love them, the end of love is near.

A woman asks little of love: only that she be able to feel like a heroine.

We sometimes feel that we have been really understood, but it was always long ago, by someone now dead.