“I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.”

“For this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.”

“I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.”

“My love of pleasure seems to be the only consistent side of my character. Is it because I have not read enough?”

“I did not find him absurd. I saw he was kind, that he was on the verge of real love. I thought it would be nice for me to be in love with him, too.”

“A Strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sorrow. The idea of sorrow has always appealed to me but now I am almost ashamed of its complete egoism. I have known boredom, regret, and occasionally remorse, but never sorrow. Today it envelops me like a silken web, enervating and soft, and sets me apart from everybody else.”

“The questions I would have liked to ask people were: ‘Are you in love? What are you reading?”