The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

During the three terrible hours that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of torture.

At every single moment of one's life one is what one is going to be no less than what one has been.

She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy.

Some things are too important to be taken seriously.

Alas, I am dying beyond my means.

Truth is rarely pure and never simple.