To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

If I have to move up in a building, I choose the elevator over the escalator. Because one time I was riding the escalator and I tripped. I fell down the stairs for an hour and a half.

I'm being treated like a sex object, cried the lady. No matter. I will take care of it, said Time soothingly.

Suicide, moreover, was at the time in vogue in Paris: what more suitable key to the mystery of life for a skeptical society?

No story is the same to us after a lapse of time or rather we who read it are no longer the same interpreters.