My worst mistake has been not grasping that time goes by. It was going by and there I was, set in the attitude of the ideal wife of an ideal husband. Instead of bringing our sexual relationship to life again I brooded happily over memories of our former nights together.

Because we are separated everything separates us, even our efforts to join each other.

For years I thought my work still lay ahead, and now I find it is behind me: there was no moment when it took place.

Those interested in perpetuating present conditions are always in tears about the marvelous past that is about to disappear, without having so much as a smile for the young future.

The misfortune is that although everyone must come to [death], each experiences the adventure in solitude. We never left Maman during those last days... and yet we were profoundly separated from her.

The ideal of happiness has always taken material form in the house, whether cottage or castle; it stands for permanence and separation from the world.

People seem to think that if you keep your head empty you automatically fill your balls.