If we have anything kind to say, any tender sentiment to express, we feel a sense of shame.

Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.

Behind everything we feel, there is always a sense of fear.

Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.

A vague uneasiness: the police. It's like when you suddenly understand you have to undress in front of the doctor.

Everyone has, inside himself ... what shall I call it? A piece of good news! Everyone is ... a very great, very important character.

'Mad' is a term we use to describe a man who is obsessed with one idea and nothing else.