I love you, even if there isn’t any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.

I am really only myself when I'm somebody else whom I have endowed with these wonderful qualities from my imagination.

Women, despite the fact that nine out of ten of them go through life with a death-bed air either of snatching-the-last-moment or with martyr-resignation, do not die tomorrow--or the next day. They have to live on to any one of many bitter ends.

Nothing annoys me more than having the most trivial action analyzed and explained.

And only weaklings...who lack courage and the power to feel they're right when the whole world says they're wrong, ever lose.

Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow. Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow.

I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.