And so I will take back up my poor life, so plain and so tranquil, where phrases are adventures and the only flowers I gather are metaphors.

A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies.

What an elder sees sitting; the young can't see standing.

No one, ever, can give the exact measure of his needs, his apprehensions, or his sorrows; and human speech is like a cracked cauldron on which we bang out tunes that make bears dance, when we want to move the stars to pity.

I love good sense above all, perhaps because I have none.

The most important thing is to keep the Soul aloft.

After the pain of this disappointment her heart once more stood empty, and the succession of identical days began again.