The only purpose of cats is that they constitute mobile decorative objects.

Because beauty consists of its own passing, just as we reach for it. It's the ephemeral configuration of things in the moment, when you can see both their beauty and their death.

Don't let the cat out or the concierge in: this is the first principle of socialist ladies.

As far as I can see, only psychoanalysis can compete with Christians in their love of drawn-out suffering.

With the exception of love, friendship and the beauty of Art, I don't see much else that can nurture human life.

Just as teardrops, when they are large and round and compassionate, can leave a long strand washed clean of discord, the summer rain as it washes away the motionless dust can bring to a person's soul something like endless breathing.

We don't recognize each other because other people have become our permanent mirrors. If we actually realized this, if we were able to become aware of the fact that we are only ever looking at ourselves in the other person, that we are alone in the wilderness, we would go crazy.