If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.

Voluptuaries, consumed by their senses, always begin by flinging themselves with a great display of frenzy into an abyss. But they survive, they come to the surface again. And they develop a routine of the abyss: It's four o clock. At five I have my abyss.

It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts.

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

I did not look for her, because I was afraid of dispelling the mystery we attach to people whom we know only casually.

We only do well the things we like doing.

The lovesick, the betrayed, and the jealous all smell alike.