France lost a great novel last night.

I'm not in the world to guard my own life, but to guard souls

There is but one way of refusing To-morrow, that is to die.

Dying is nothing. What's terrible is not to live.

There exists, at the bottom of all abasement and misfortune, a last extreme which rebels and joins battle with the forces of law and respectability in a desperate struggle, waged partly by cunning and partly by violence, at once sick and ferocious, in which it attacks the prevailing social order with the pin-pricks of vice and the hammer-blows of crime.

She had had sweet dreams, which possibly arose from the fact that her little bed was very white.

God blesses man, not for having found but for having sought.