Losing their names, these things underwent a process of uncreation.

we must not blame our poor symbols if they take forms that seem trivial to us, or absurd, ... however paltry they may be; the nature of our life alone has determined their forms.

A book is simply the container of an idea-like a bottle; what is inside the book is what matters.

We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity.

They were connoisseurs of boredom. They savoured the various bouquets of the subtly differentiated boredoms which rose from the long, wasted hours at the dead end of night.

A young girl would go into the wood as trustingly as Red Riding Hood to her granny's house but this light admits no ambiguities and, here, she will be trapped in her own illusion because everything in the woods is exactly as it seems.

Nothing is a matter of life and death except life and death.