I have to find a way of saying the truth without saying it; that is exactly what is literature, after all: clever lies which secretly say the truth.
Writing is not as pleasant as kissing; it is even a little dry, and lonely and sad, but it is better than nothing: I have no choice left.
Your ring goes everywhere with me, it takes soap when I wash myself in the morning, it took sand on the Corsican shores, tomorrow it will catch something of the London dust. So you are mixed with all my life.
I can live on bread and potatoes, water and love.
I always like to see water glittering in the dark, but in daylight it is very dull.
...there was a very reluctant sun hidden behind clouds.
...we'll meet in love and leave in love...
Love was everywhere, in the smell of flowers, and the taste of whisky, in the color of the paperback books so precious, so sweet, and so painful.
Loving you so much means I can suffer very much because of you,...
Well, I will interfere with your freedom: I'll put an electric fence around Wabansia home; I'll poison your skin and lips so that if you touch any woman, she'll fall dead.
...worrying is useless too and you must not vainly brood and worry when you have chosen to live.
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