The one thing I regret is that I will never have time to read all the books I want to read.
Art must take reality by surprise. It takes those moments which are for us merely a moment, plus a moment, plus another moment, and arbitrarily transforms them into a special series of moments held together by a major emotion.
It amused me to think that one can tell the truth when one is drunk and nobody will believe it.
curiosity is the beginning of wisdom.
For this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.
Writing is just having a sheet of paper, a pen and not a shadow of an idea of what you are going to say.
The questions I would have liked to ask people were: ‘Are you in love? What are you reading?
Every little girl knows about love. It is only her capacity to suffer because of it that increases.
No one is more conventional than a woman who is falling out of love.
I feel sorry for men. They have more problems than women, because they now have to compete with women.
Of course the illusion of art is to make one believe that great literature is very close to life, but exactly the opposite is true. Life is amorphous, literature is formal.
I think the best way to waste time is to try to save time.
For me writing is a question of finding a certain rhythm. I compare it to the rhythms of jazz.
The happiness of others is never bearable for very long.
It is healthier to see the good points of others than to analyze our own bad ones.
I recognize limitations in the sense that I've read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky and Shakespeare . . . Aside from that I don't think of limiting myself.
happiness has always seemed to me a great achievement.
Nothing brings on jealousy like laughter.
He refused categorically all ideas of fidelity or serious commitments. He explained that they were arbitrary and sterile. From anyone else such views would have shocked me, but I knew that in his case they did not exclude tenderness and devotion - feelings which came all the more easily to him since he was determined that they should be transient.
It isn't common sense that is paramount in this world, it's wishful thinking.
I did not find him absurd. I saw he was kind, that he was on the verge of real love. I thought it would be nice for me to be in love with him, too.
Marriage? It's like asparagus eaten with vinaigrette or hollandaise, a matter of taste but of no importance.
I shall live badly if I do not write, and I shall write badly if I do not live.
When you make a decision to write according to a set schedule and really stick to it, you find yourself writing very fast. At least I do.
I was thinking that I should be content to kiss him until the break of day. Bertrand ran out of kisses too soon; desire made them superfluous in his eyes. They were only a stage on the road to pleasure, not something inexhaustible and self-sufficient, as Luc had revealed them to me.
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