When You Are Forty, Half

It Is Restful, Tragedy, Because One Knows That There Is No More Lousy Hope Left. You Know You're Caught, Caught At Last Like A Rat With All The World On Its Back. And The Only Thing Left To Do Is Shout - Not Moan, Or Complain, But Yell Out At The Top Of Your Voice Whatever It Was You Had To Say. What You've Never Said Before. What Perhaps You Don't Even Know Till Now.

Everything Ends This Way In France — Everything. Weddings, Christenings, Duels, Burials, Swindlings, Diplomatic Affairs — Everything Is A Pretext For A Good Dinner.

Each Of Us Has A Day .. When He Has To Accept, Finally, The Fact That He Is A Man.

There Is Love Of Course. And Then There's Life, Its Enemy.

Life Has A Way Of Setting Things In Order And Leaving Them Be. Very Tidy, Is Life.