The perpetual hunger to be beautiful and that thirst to be loved which is the real curse of Eve.
I have arranged my little life.
You imagine the carefully pruned, shaped thing that is presented to you is truth. That is just what it isn't. The truth is improbable, the truth is fantastic; it's in what you think is a distorting mirror that you see the truth.
Now at last I know why I was brought here and what I have to do.
I am empty of everything. I am empty of everything but the thin, frail ghosts in my room.
One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.
We can't all be happy, we can't all be rich, we can't all be lucky - and it would be so much less fun if we were... There must be the dark background to show up the bright colours.
Sometimes the Earth trembles; sometimes you can feel it breathe.
Today I must be very careful, today I have left my armor at home.
I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
No past to make us sentimental, no future to embarrass us...a difficult moment when you are out of practice - a moment that makes you go cold, cold and wary.
I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.
Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It's more often a succession of jerks.
Blot out the moon, Pull down the stars. Love in the dark, for we're for the dark So soon, so soon.
...I know all about myself now, I know. You've told me so often. You haven't left me one rag of illusion to clothe myself in.
It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
He had discovered that people who allow themselves to be blown about by the winds of emotion and impulse are always unhappy people.
I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know.
Every word I say has chains round its ankles; every thought I think is weighted with heavy weights.
And then the days came when I was alone.
A room? A nice room? A beautiful room? A beautiful room with bath? Swing high, swing low, swing to and fro...This happened and that happened... And then the days came and I was alone.
I'm no use to anybody,' I say. 'I'm a cérébrale, can't you see that?' Thinking how funny a book would be, called 'Just a Cérébrale or You Can't Stop Me From Dreaming'. Only, of course, to be accepted as authentic, to carry any conviction, it would have to be written by a man. What a pity, what a pity!
She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.
Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment.
If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
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