This is the curse of our age, even the strangest aberrations are no cure for boredom.



Profession: Author
Nationality: French

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Love of the head has doubtless more intelligence than true love, but it only has moments of enthusiasm. It knows itself too well, it sits in judgement on itself incessantly; far from distracting thought, it is made by sheer force of thought.

The only way of touching a heart is to wound it.

Women are always eagerly on the lookout for any emotion.

Power, after love, is the first source of happiness.

Such are death, life, eternity- simple phenomena for those with organs of sense vast enough to comprehend them...

Politics in a literary work, is like a gun shot in the middle of a concert, something vulgar, and however, something which is impossible to ignore.

There are as many styles of beauty as there are visions of happiness.

Leave me with my life of the imagination. Your petty pestering, your details of real life, which all upset me to some degree, would drag me down from heaven. Each person dies as best he may; my wish is not to think of death except in my own way.

Each man for himself in that desert of egoism which is called life.

Our true passions are selfish.

Oh, if there were only a true religion. Fool that I am, I see a Gothic cathedral and venerable stained-glass windows, and my weak heart conjures up the priest to fit the scene. My soul would understand him, my soul has need of him. I only find a nincompoop with dirty hair.

What woman alive today would not be horrified to touch the head of her decapitated lover?’ Madame.

Feminine delicacy was carried to excess in Mme de Renal.

It seemed to Julian that there was far too much hair in his wig.