All human actions are equivalent and all are on principle doomed to failure.

Hell is other people.

The Other is the hidden death of my possibilities.

The simplest, most indefinable quality had too much content, in relation to itself, in its heart.

Anyhow, it is a definite colour: I am glad I have red hair. There is it is in the mirror, it makes itself seen, it shines. I am still lucky if my forehead was surmounted by one of those neutral heads of hair which are neither chestnut not blond, my face would be lost in vagueness, it would make me dizzy.

You see a woman, you think that one day she’ll be old, only you don’t see her grow old. But there are moments when you think you see her grow old and feel yourself growing old with her: this is the feeling of adventure.

I am illuminated within by a diminishing light.

Hands don’t catch thoughts.

Oppressed with countless little daily cares, he had waited... For an act. A free, considered act; that should pledge his whole life, and stand at the beginning of a new existence.

From time to time I yawn so widely that tears roll down my cheek.