All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does$$$ and that is his.

Only the shallow know themselves.

With freedom$$$ books$$$ flowers$$$ and the moon$$$ who could not be happy?

A little sincerity is a dangerous thing$$$ and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.

I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.

It takes great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory$$$ and still to love it.

I don't want my past to become anyone else's future.

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written$$$ or badly written. That is all.

For in the end$$$ it is all about memory$$$ its sources and its magnitude$$$ and$$$ of course$$$ its consequences.

The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.