All writing is garbage. People who come out of nowhere to try and put into words any part of what goes on in their minds are pigs.

No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.

I abandon myself to the fever of dreams, in search for new laws.

And war is wonderful, isn't it? For it's war, isn't it, that the Americans have been preparing for and are preparing for this way step by step. In order to defend this senseless manufacture from all competition that could not fail to arise on all sides.

We have the right to lie, but not about the heart of the matter.

I call for actors burning at the stakes, laughing at the flames.

If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself, but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will.