The writer who loses his self-doubt, who gives way as he grows old to a sudden euphoria, to prolixity, should stop writing immediately: the time has come for him to lay aside his pen.
Give me a dozen such heartbreaks, if that would help me lose a couple of pounds
Look for a long time at what pleases you, and for a longer time at what pains you
Who said you should be happy? Do your work
My cat does not talk as respectfully to me as I do to her.
For to dream and then to return to reality only means that our qualms suffer a change of place and significance
By associating with the cat one only risks becoming richer.
We don't feel at ease here: we are surrounded by too much beauty
That provisional tomb where the living exile sighs, weeps, fights and succumbs, and is born again, remembering nothing, with the day
What a delight it is to make friends with someone you have despised
