We're Swallowed Up Only When We Are

All Psychological Research Is Completely Barred By The Interpretations Of The Psychoanalysts. Everything Happens In The Unconscious, And I Don't Know What This Unconscious Is.

I Have Often Heard That The Novel Is Dead. But I See Novels Produced, I Don't Know How Many A Week, In France. I Have The Impression It's Carrying Along Quite Well.

One Can't Write For All Readers. A Poet Cannot Write For People Who Don't Like Poetry.

Neither Reproaches Nor Encouragements Are Able To Revive A Faith That Is Waning.

Suspicion Is One Of The Morbid Reactions By Which An Organism Defends Itself And Seeks Another Equilibrium.