Casting Aspersions On Those We

She Remembered The Heroines Of Novels She Had Read, And The Lyrical Legion Of Those Adulterous Women Began To Sing In Her Memory With Sisterly Voices That Enchanted Her. Now She Saw Herself As One Of Those Amoureuses Whom She Had So Envied: She Was Becoming, In Reality, One Of That Gallery Of Fictional Figures; The Long Dream Of Her Youth Was Coming True.

We Should Not Touch Our Idols: Their Gilding Will Remain On Our Hands.

Stupidity Consists In Wanting To Reach Conclusions. We Are A Thread, And We Want To Know The Whole Cloth.

One Mustn't Ask Apple Trees For Oranges, France For Sun, Women For Love, Life For Happiness.

One Day, I Shall Explode Like An Artillery Shell And All My Bits Will Be Found On The Writing Table.