It is thus that the few rare lucid well-disposed people who have had to struggle on the earth find themselves at certain hours of the day or night in the depth of certain authentic and waking nightmare states, surrounded by the formidable suction, the formidable oppression of a kind of civic magic which will soon be seen appearing openly in social behavior.

In our present state of degeneration it is through the skin that metaphysics must be made to re-enter our minds.

Without sarcasm I sink into chaos.

If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again.

There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea, shining in his head, frightened people, and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him.

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.

If our life lacks a constant magic it is because we choose to observe our acts and lose ourselves in consideration of their imagined form and meaning, instead of being impelled by their force.