But the world itself has no reason, and I can say so, I who have experienced it all, from the creation to the destruction.

In order to exist, man must rebel.

We are rebels for a cause, poets with a dream , and we won't let this world die without a fight.

After all perhaps the greatness of art lies in the perpetual tension between beauty and pain, the love of men and the madness of creation, unbearable solitude and the exhausting crowd, rejection and consent.

An intellectual? Yes. And never deny it. An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself. I like this, because I am happy to be both halves, the watcher and the watched. "Can they be brought together?" This is a practical question. We must get down to it. "I despise intelligence" really means: "I cannot bear my doubts.

Old women even forget how to love their sons. The heart gets worn out, Monsieur.

When I see a new face, something sets off an alarm bell inside me. 'slow down! Danger!' Even when the attraction is strongest, I am on my guard.