One of the only coherent philosophical positions is thus revolt. It is a constant confrontation between man and his own obscurity.

The artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.

Gilbert Jonas, painter, believed in his star.... His own faith was not, however, without its virtues because it consisted in admitting, in some obscure way, that he would obtain many things without deserving them.

History only exists, in the final analysis, for God.

...there was only one thing that interested her and that was getting into bed with men whenever she'd the chance. And I warned her straight. 'You'll be sorry one day, my girl, and wish you'd got me back'.

We are not certain, we are never certain.

We spend our days in deliberating, and we end them without coming to any resolve.