All that is sacred and taboo in the world are meaningless.

We three belong to the Middle Ages. We have this need of heroism, and there is no place for such feelings in modern life. That is our tragedy. Once I wanted to be a saint. It seemed the only absolute act left to do, for what is most powerful in me is the craving for purity, greatness.

The child who is uprooted begins to recognize that what he builds within himself is what will endure, what will withstand shattering experiences.

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate. I hate murderously.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

What a mystery this is, desire. The love sickness, the sensitivity, the obsession, the flutter of the heart, the ebb and flow of the blood. There is no drug and no alcohol to equal it.

I love man as creator, lover, husband, friend, but man the father I do not trust. I do not believe in man as father. I do not trust man as father.