We're Swallowed Up Only When We Are

Neither Reproaches Nor Encouragements Are Able To Revive A Faith That Is Waning.

I Have Often Heard That The Novel Is Dead. But I See Novels Produced, I Don't Know How Many A Week, In France. I Have The Impression It's Carrying Along Quite Well.

I Have Never Sought The Reason Why I Write.

All Psychological Research Is Completely Barred By The Interpretations Of The Psychoanalysts. Everything Happens In The Unconscious, And I Don't Know What This Unconscious Is.

Those Who Live In A World Of Human Beings Can Only Retrace Their Steps.