The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.

People can have many different kinds of pleasure. The real one is that for which they will forsake the others.

People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad.

The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.

The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.

Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.