Boredom was at the root of Lazare’s unhappiness, an oppressive, unremitting boredom, exuding from everything like the muddy water of a poisoned spring. He was bored with leisure, with work, with himself even more than...

Did not one spend the first half of one’s days in dreams of happiness and the second half in regrets and terrors?

She wanted to live, and live fully, and to give life, she who loved life! What was the good of existing, if you couldn’t give yourself?