I am alive again, now that I can no longer stand to live.

Beauty, no doubt, does not make revolutions. But a day will come when revolutions will have need of beauty.

I spent a long time looking at faces, drinking in smiles. Am I happy or unhappy? It’s not a very important question. I live with such frenzied intensity. Things and people are waiting for me, and doubtless I am waiting for them and desiring them with all my strength and sadness. But, here, I earn the right to be alive by silence and by secrecy. The miracle of not having to talk about oneself.

We have to live and let live in order to create what we are.

For what gives value to travel is fear. It breaks down a kind of inner structure we have. Travel robs us of such refuge. Far from our own people, our own language, stripped of all our props, deprived of our masks (one doesn't know the fare on the streetcars, or anything else), we are completely on the surface of ourselves.

Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart.