Believe me, there is no such thing as great suffering, great regret, great memory… Everything is forgotten, even a great love. That’s what’s sad about life, and also what’s wonderful about it. There is only a way of looking at things, a way that comes to you every once in a while. That’s why it’s good to have had love in your life after all, to have had an unhappy passion – it gives you an alibi for the vague despairs we all suffer from.
At sixteen the adolescent knows what it is to suffer, for he has himself suffered. But he hardly knows that other beings suffer too.[A seize ans l’adolescent sait ce que c’est que souffrir; car il a souffert lui-même; mais à peine sait-il que d’autres êtres souffrent aussi.]