There are connoisseurs of blue just as there are connoisseurs of wine.

Books, books, books. It was not that I read so much. I read and re-read the same ones. But all of them were necessary to me. Their presence, their smell, the letters of their titles, and the texture of their leather bindings.

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

I am indebted to the cat for a particular kind of honorable deceit, for a greater control over myself, for a characteristic aversion to brutal sounds, and for the need to keep silent for long periods of time.

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

beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water

I want nothing from love, in short, but love.