Gustave Flaubert

Doubt … is an illness that comes from knowledge and leads to madness.

There comes a point at which you stop writing and think all the more

Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.

You need a high degree of corruption or a very big heart to love absolutely everything

When you reduce a woman to writing, she makes you think of a thousand other women

What stops me from taking myself seriously, even though I am essentially a serious person, is that I find myself extremely ridiculous, not in the sense of the small-scale ridiculousness of slap-stick comedy, but rather in the sense of ridiculousness that seems intrinsic to human life and that manifests itself in the simplest actions and the most extraordinary gestures.