To write is to pour one’s innermost self passionately upon the tempting paper, at such frantic speed that sometimes one’s hand struggles and rebels, overdriven by the impatient god which guides it - and to find, next day, in place of the golden bough that bloomed miraculously in that dazzling hour, a withered bramble and a stunted flower.

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

A happy childhood is poor preparation for human contacts.

On this narrow planet, we have only the choice between two unknown worlds. One of them tempts us - ah! what a dream, to live in that! - the other stifles us at the first breath.

Be happy. It's one way of being wise.

Hope costs nothing.

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