It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.

One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.

I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering.

It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.

It is wise to apply the oil of refined politeness to the mechanisms of friendship.

I went to collect the few personal belongings which...I held to be invaluable: my cat, my resolve to travel, and my solitude.

January, month of empty pockets! let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producer's forehead.