The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to me.
Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.
Bad art is a great deal worse than no art at all.
Women treat us [men] like humanity treats gods – they worship us and keep bothering us to do something.
Out of the unreal shadows of night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off... p 207
Any place you love is the world to you.