- Basile Matrin: She didn't let go of me for a second. It wasn't my hand she was holding! You know... my God!
- Basile Matrin: She hadn't her little panty. She had nothing on. Merely thighs... belly... hair... and flesh... so warm... delicious.
- Basile Matrin: I could hear the songs of Gerard Lenorman. I saw images of blossoms in springtime. Little brooks flowed through my head. I felt like shouting dirty words.
- Le journaleux: Depressives are like the priest: they want to make you pay for a fault you didn't commit.
- Basile Matrin: Don't you want to play a little something - so she has a taste of this piano?
- Le professeur de piano: Music isn't eaten, sir.
- Basile Matrin: When I was a kid I had a girlfriend who called her dog "Pompidou." Do you see yourself calling your dog "Sarkozy" or "Hollande?"
- Basile Matrin: When you think of it... sex is really... really not nice. It hardens... it wets... it flows. You'll say "It's nature," but nature doesn't do only nice things. Sicknesses... aren't they nature? Floods... aren't they nature?
- Le journaleux: I prefer to dream of women rather than to sleep with them. One says "making love" the way one says "making one's bed." It short, it's a chore.
- Le peintre: I'm studying the works of Gauguin. It's real painting that goes with all possible interiors.