There are days when solitude, for someone my age, is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.
The writer who loses his self-doubt, who gives way as he grows old to a sudden euphoria, to prolixity, should stop writing immediately: the time has come for him to lay aside his pen.
What a wonderful life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner.
Total absence of humor renders life impossible.
It's nothing to be born ugly. Sensibly, the ugly woman comes to terms with her ugliness and exploits it as a grace of nature. To become ugly means the beginning of a calamity, self-willed most of the time.
It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts. After death they take on a firmer outline and then cease to change.
You do not notice changes in what is always before you.
I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering.
Look for a long time at what pleases you, and a longer time at what pains you.
The true traveler is he who goes on foot, and even then, he sits down a lot of the time.
Smokers, male and female, inject and excuse idleness in their lives every time they light a cigarette.
Perhaps the only misplaced curiosity is that which persists in trying to find out here, on this side of death, what lies beyond the grave.
One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.
Nothing ages a woman like living in the country.
Boredom helps one to make decisions.