As for omens, there is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.

I hate vulgar realism in literature. The man who would call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one.

Self-denial is the shining sore on the leprous body of Christianity.

I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.

She wore far too much rouge last night and not quite enough clothes. That is always a sign of despair in a woman.

Women, as some witty Frenchman once put it, inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and always prevent us from carrying them out.

How does one cure the soul? Through the senses