Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.

Isn’t desire always the same, whether the object is present or absent? Isn’t the object always absent? —This isn’t the same languor: there are two words: Pothos, desire for the absent being, and Himéros, the more burning desire for the present being.

Those who fail to reread are obliged to read the same story everywhere.

To whom could I put this question (with any hope of an answer)? Does being able to live without someone you loved mean you loved her less than you thought...?

New York... is a city of geometric heights, a petrified desert of grids and lattices, an inferno of greenish abstraction under a flat sky, a real Metropolis from which man is absent by his very accumulation.

To eat steak rare . . . represents both a nature and a morality.

Are not couturiers the poets who, from year to year, from strophe to strophe, write the anthem of the feminine body?