A scholar's heart is a dark well in which are buried many aborted feelings that rise to the surface as arguments.

Might I be the one I am looking for?

Paris has always seemed to me to be the only city in which one can live as one sees fit.

I judge people's charm by the ease with which I express myself in their presence.

We know all their gods; they ignore ours. What they call our sins are our gods, and what they call their gods, we name otherwise.

Fashion: the search for a new absurdity.

Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed.