Culture: the cry of men in face of their destiny.
[Paris] is dirty. It has pigeons and black yards. The people have white skin.
The world I live in is loathsome to me, but I feel one with the men who suffer in it
The work of art is born of the intelligence's refusal to reason the concrete. It marks the triumph of the carnal.
In our society, any man who doesn't cry at his mother's funeral is liable to be condemned to death.
Whoever gives nothing, has nothing. The greatest misfortune is not to be unloved, but not to love.