Failure To Love Is Almost Like Murder.

About Dreams. It Is Usually Taken For Granted That You Dream Of Something That Has Made A Particularly Strong Impression On You During The Day, But It Seems To Me It´s Just The Contrary. Often It´s Something You Paid No Attention To At The Time -- A Vague Thought That You Didn´t Bother To Think Out To The End, Words Spoken Without Feeling And Which Passed Unnoticed -- These Are The Things That Return At Night, Clothed In Flesh And Blood, And They Become The Subjects Of Dreams, As If To Make Up For Having Been Ignored During Waking Hours.

It´s A Good Thing When A Man Is Different From Your Image Of Him. Is Shows He Isn´t A Type. If He Were, It Would Be The End Of Him As A Man. But If You Can´t Place Him In A Category, It Means That At Least A Part Of Him Is What A Human Being Ought To Be. He Has Risen Above Himself, He Has A Grain Of Immortality.

Surprise Is The Greatest Gift Which Life Can Grant Us.

I Have The Impression That If He Didn't Complicate His Life So Needlessly, He Would Die Of Boredom.

They Loved Each Other, Not Driven By Necessity, By The "blaze Of Passion" Often Falsely Ascribed To Love. They Loved Each Other Because Everything Around Them Willed It, The Trees And The Clouds And The Sky Over Their Heads And The Earth Under Their Feet.