One Knows Less About One's

The Life Of A Writer Is Tragic: The More We Advance, The Farther There Is To Go And The More There Is To Say, The Less Time There Is To Say It.

Curiosity Ran Unchecked Through Him, Like The Wind Outside Through The Deserted Streets, Along The Canal, Around The Little Wooden Houses, Everywhere, As Far As The Mountain.

Of All Things That Can Happen To Us, Triumph Is The Most Difficult To Endure When We Are Alone. Deprived Of Witnesses, It Shrinks At Once.

Could We Ever Know Each Other In The Slightest Without The Arts?

My Great Hope Would Be That Quebec Would Realize Itself Fully As A Distinct Part Of Canada, And Stay Canadian, Bringing To Canada A Part Of Its Richness.