One always, sooner or later, comes upon a city which is an image of one's inner cities. Fez is an image of my inner self. ... The layers of the city of Fez are like the layers and secrecies of the inner life. One needs a guide. ... There were in Fez, as in my life, streets which led nowhere, impasses which remained a mystery.

All those who try to unveil the mysteries always have tragic lives. At the end they are always punished.

The woman will sit eternally in the tall black armchair. I will be the one woman you will never have...excessive living weighs down the imagination: we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails.

He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.

Woman does not forget she needs the fecundator, she does not forget that everything that is born of her is planted in her.

We speak of the masculine and the feminine, but they are the wrong labels. It is really more a matter of poetry versus intellectualization.

The way to recognize a dead word is that it exudes boredom.