“Never touch a butterfly’s wing with your finger.”

Books, books, books. It was not that I read so much. I read and re-read the same ones. But all of them were necessary to me. Their presence, their smell, the letters of their titles, and the texture of their leather bindings.

One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.

As for an authentic villain, the real thing, the absolute, the artist, one rarely meets him even once in a lifetime. The ordinary bad hat is always in part a decent fellow.

The faults of husbands are often caused by the excess virtues of their wives.

Be happy. It’s one way of being wise.

Total absence of humor renders life impossible.

The day after that wedding night I found that a distance of a thousand miles, abyss and discovery and irremediable metamorphosis, separated me from the day before.

The true traveler is he who goes on foot, and even then, he sits down a lot of the time.

Look for a long time at what pleases you, and a longer time at what pains you.

It is wise to apply the oil of refined politeness to the mechanisms of friendship.

Smokers, male and female, inject and excuse idleness in their lives every time they light a cigarette.

Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight.

There are connoisseurs of blue just as there are connoisseurs of wine.

Is suffering so very serious? …I’m referring to the kind of suffering a man inflicts on a woman or a woman on a man. It’s extremely painful… hardly bearable. But I very much fear that this sort of pain… is no more worthy of respect than old age or illness.

What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.

A kindly gesture bestowed by us on an animal arouses prodigies of understanding and gratitude.

But touch my tears, with your lips. Touch my world, with your fingertips. And we can have forever. And we can love forever. Forever is our today.

We put boogers on our fingers, then shake your hand.

The past is like a handful of dust. It filters through your fingers, disappearing little by little. I wish, for one day, I could go back. In another life, I would do things differently.

They who pass their whole lives in working for their daily bread, have no ideas beyond their business or their interest, and all their understanding seems to lie in their fingers ends.

Just as God gave different fingers to the hand so has He given different ways to men.

As I feel your heart shatter like sand through my helpless fingers I envision ripples through the tar of your blood.

As I feel your heart shatter like sand through my helpless fingers I envision ripples through the tar of your blood.

And I don’t know if it’s his lips or his fingers that make thousands of roses bloom on my skin.