Nothing Brings On Jealousy Like Laughter.

I Shall Live Badly If I Do Not Write, And I Shall Write Badly If I Do Not Live.

A Strange Melancholy Pervades Me To Which I Hesitate To Give The Grave And Beautiful Name Of Sorrow. The Idea Of Sorrow Has Always Appealed To Me But Now I Am Almost Ashamed Of It's Complete Egoism. I Have Known Boredom, Regret, And Occasionally Remorse, But Never Sorrow. Today It Envelops Me Like A Silken Web, Enervating And Soft, And Sets Me Apart From Everybody Else.

After Proust, There Are Certain Things That Simply Cannot Be Done Again. He Marks Off For You The Boundaries Of Your Talent.

It Is Healthier To See The Good Points Of Others Than To Analyze Our Own Bad Ones.

He Refused Categorically All Ideas Of Fidelity Or Serious Commitments. He Explained That They Were Arbitrary And Sterile. From Anyone Else Such Views Would Have Shocked Me, But I Knew That In His Case They Did Not Exclude Tenderness And Devotion - Feelings Which Came All The More Easily To Him Since He Was Determined That They Should Be Transient.