As Proust once said, classically beautiful women should be left to men without imagination. - Alain de Botton

In our more arrogant moments, the sin of pride — or superbia, in Augustine's Latin formulation — takes over our personalities and shuts us off from those around us. We become dull to others when all we seek to do is assert how well things are going for us, just as friendship has a chance to grow only when we fare to share what we are afraid of and regret. The rest is merely showmanship. The flaws whose exposure we so dread, the indiscretions we know we would be mocked for, the secrets that keep our conversations with our so-called friends superficial and inert — all of these emerge as simply part of the human condition.

The study of maps and the perusal of travel books aroused in me a secret fascination that was at times almost irresistible.

The arrogance of wanting to be loved had emerged only now it was unreciprocated — I was left alone with my desire, defenseless, beyond the law, shockingly crude in my demands: Love me! And for what reason? I had only the usual paltry, insufficient excuse: Because I love you . .