By means of an image we are often able to hold on to our lost belongings. But it is the desperateness of losing which picks the flowers of memory, binds the bouquet.

Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.

You do not notice changes in what is always before you.

At the top of the iron staircase leading to the stage, the good, dry, dusty warmth wraps me round like a comfortable dirty cloak.

Sit down and put down everything that comes into your head and then you're a writer. But an author is one who can judge his own stuff's worth, without pity, and destroy most of it.

A kindly gesture bestowed by us on an animal arouses prodigies of understanding and gratitude.

In the matter of furnishing, I find a certain absence of ugliness far worse than ugliness.