I’m trying to die correctly, but it’s very difficult, you know.
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- There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.
- Truth disappears with the telling of it.
- It’s only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdy that you can get tenderness.
- No one can go on being a rebel too long without turning into an autocrat.
- Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will –whatever we may think.
- Music is only love looking for words.