In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

Marxism is not scientific: at the best, it has scientific prejudices.

It occurred to me that anyway one more Sunday was over that Maman was buried now, that I was going back to work, and that, really, nothing had changed.

The entire history of mankind is, in any case, nothing but a prolonged fight to the death for the conquest of universal prestige and absolute power.

I may not have been sure about what really did interest me, but I was absolutely sure about what didn't.

It is not your paintings I like, it is your painting.

Travel, which is like a greater and a graver science, brings us back to ourselves.