“Even though our lives wander, our memories remain in one place.”

Let us leave pretty women to men devoid of imagination.

Reality is never more than a first step towards an unknown on the road to which one can never progress very far.

Nine tenths of the ills from which intelligent people suffer spring from their intellect.

A picture’s beauty does not depend on the things portrayed in it.

We are at times too ready to believe that the present is the only possible state of things.

The creation of the world did not occur at the beginning of time, it occurs every day.

You can’t learn the truth about a man’s intentions by asking him.

All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.

A woman one loves rarely suffices for all our needs, so we deceive her with another whom we do not love.

The time at our disposal each day is elastic; the passions we feel dilate it, those that inspire us shrink it, and habit fills it.

It has been said that beauty is a promise of happiness. Conversely, the possibility of pleasure can be a beginning of beauty.

There comes in all our lives a time, when the ears can listen to no music save what the moonlight breathes through the flute of silence.

Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us.

Your soul is a dark forest. But the trees are of a particular species, they are genealogical trees.

In a separation it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things.

We must never be afraid to go too far, for truth lies beyond.

I have a two-story house and a bad memory, so I’m up and down those stairs all the time. That’s my exercise.

You hypnotize yourself with memories that were meant to be forgotten, then wonder why destiny never favors you.

We never stop to consider that our beliefs are only a relative truth that’s always going to be distorted by all the knowledge we have stored in our memory.

I draw on my memories but blended with a lot of fantasy.

Her memory still lingers, like a cockroach in my heart.

Imagine how beautiful life would be spent if we spent it lost in moments rather than memories.

I really thought I was on the way out. My husband Blake saved my life. Often I don’t know what I do, then the next day the memory returns. And then I am engulfed in shame.

Grief is a love preservative. My heart is a jar. My blood is the brine. The memory of you I steal inside.