“There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.”

Existence is not something which lets itself be thought of from a distance; it must invade you suddenly, master you, weigh heavily on your heart like a great motionless beast – or else there is nothing at all.

Perhaps its inevitable, perhaps one has to choose between being nothing at all and impersonating what one is.

I think that is the big danger in keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything.

I said to myself, ‘I want to die decently’.

In love, one and one are one.

Existence is an imperfection.

I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.

You are — your life, and nothing else.

I am not asking for sensational revelations, but I would like to sense the meaning of that minute, to feel it’s urgency.

It was odd, he thought, that a man could hate himself as though he were someone else.

Existence is prior to essence.

Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.

I think of death only with tranquility, as an end. I refuse to let death hamper life. Death must enter life only to define it.

For an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it.

It’s strange. I felt less lonely when I didn’t know you.

Genius is what a man invents when he is looking for a way out.

If you don’t feel pretty, you’re wrong. If you’re dealing with a problem, don’t be afraid to talk. And. If you think you’re alone, listen to my music ’cause I’m here for you.

Opinions mean nothing; they may be beautiful or ugly, clever or foolish, anyone can embrace or reject them.

What is the most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine.

Our appreciations, it was felt, could be so much more inclusive if we said that something, instead of being beautiful, was ‘interesting’.

I despise women wearing too much makeup. It hides their actual beauty.

White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all!

Your beautiful don’t let anyone tell you different

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.