It takes so little, so infinitely little, for a person to cross the border beyond which everything loses meaning: love, convictions, faith, history. Human life -- and herein lies its secret -- takes place in the immediate proximity of that border, even in direct contact with it; it is not miles away, but a fraction of an inch.

Great novels are always a little more intelligent than their authors.

When his wife was at his side, she was also in front of him, marking out the horizon of his life. Now the horizon is empty: the view has changed.

Flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse without a guarantee.

Memory does not make films, it makes photographs.

Radio... force-feeds us music... everywhere and all the time... sewage-water music in which music is dying.

But man, because he has only one life to live, cannot conduct experiments to test whether to follow his passion (compassion) or not.