So the days pass, and I ask myself whether one is not hypnotized, as a child by a silver globe, by life, and whether this is living.

The mind must be allowed to settle undisturbed over the object in order to secrete the pearl.

Have you any notion how many books are written about women in the course of one year? Have you any notion how many are written by men? Are you aware that you are, perhaps, the most discussed animal in the universe?

There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.

Like all very handsome men who die tragically, he left not so much a character behind him as a legend. Youth and death shed a halo through which it is difficult to see a real face.

Marvelous are the innocent.

Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.