Better To Dream Than To Be.

Literature Exists Because The World Isn't Enough.

Nostalgia! I Feel It Even For Someone Who Meant Nothing To Me, Out Of Anxiety For The Flight Of Time And A Sickness Bred Of The Mystery Of Life. If One Of The Faces I Pass Daily On The Streets Disappears, I Feel Sad; Yet They Meant Nothing To Me, Other Than Being A Symbol Of All Life.

I Wasn’t Meant For Reality, But Life Came And Found Me.

Against Destiny I Fulfilled My Duty. Uselessly? No, For I Fulfilled It.

I Never Was But An Isolated Bon Vivant, Which Is Absurd; Or A Mystic Bon Vivant, Which Is An Impossible Thing.