Tragedy Is Clean, It Is Restful, It

The Only Immorality Is Not To Do What One Has To Do When One Has To Do It.

Life Is A Child Playing Round Your Feet, A Tool You Hold Firmly In Your Grip, A Bench You Sit Down Upon In The Evening, In Your Garden.

Everything Ends This Way In France — Everything. Weddings, Christenings, Duels, Burials, Swindlings, Diplomatic Affairs — Everything Is A Pretext For A Good Dinner.

Until The Day Of His Death No Man Can Be Sure Of His Courage.

Talent Is Like A Faucet, While It Is Open, One Must Write.