A work of art that contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left.
Category: Arts And Artists
It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's bed and there, abandoning all effort and all resistance, to bury even one's head under the cover, giving one's self up to it completely, moaning like branches in the autumn wind. But there is still a better bed, full of divine odors. It is our sweet, our profound, our impenetrable friendship.
Things don't change, but by and by our wishes change.
The charms of the passing woman are generally in direct proportion to the swiftness of her passing.
There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.
I understood that all the material of a literary work was in my past life, I understood that I had acquired it in the midst of frivolous amusements, in idleness, in tenderness and in pain, stored up by me without my divining its destination or even its survival, as the seed has in reserve all the ingredients which will nourish the plant.
We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.
Category: Death And Dying
All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.
Impelled by a state of mind which is destined not to last, we make our irrevocable decisions
There's nothing like desire to prevent the things one says from having any resemblance to the things in one's mind.
We do not succeed in changing things according to our desire, but gradually our desire changes.
For each illness that doctors cure with medicine, they provoke ten in healthy people by inoculating them with the virus that is a thousand times more powerful than any microbe: the idea that one is ill.
If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.
A cathedral, a wave of storm, a dancer's leap, never turn out to be as high as we had hoped.
The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.