Silence too can be indiscreet.

There are. intangible realities which float near us, formless and without words; realities which no one has thought out, and which are excluded for lack of interpreters.

Lovers should also have their days off.

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

All expression, all art, is an indiscretion we commit against ourselves. This is not an 'impoverishment' but an increase in wealth, for it is in this way that we make the short hours of our lives live on beyond themselves.

If only art were as rare as good taste.

Avoid that romantic trap: saying more than you feel, forcing yourself to feel more than you've said!