We don’t receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us.
One says the things which one feels the need to say, and which the other will not understand: one speaks for oneself alone.
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.
It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint, it is because we ourselves are dying.
Our intonations contain our philosophy of life, what each of us is constantly telling himself about things.