Nature is a burning and frigid, transparent and limited universe in which nothing is possible but everything is given.

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.

Does the end justify the means? That is possible. But what will justify the end? To that question, which historical thought leaves pending, rebellion replies: the means.

Love cannot accept what it is. Everywhere on earth it cries out against kindness, compassion, intelligence, everything that leads to compromise. Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life.

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

My life was lucky so that I met, I loved (and disappointed) only outstanding people.

To feel absolutely right is the beginning of the end.