Facts can't be recounted; much less twice over, and far less still by different persons. I've already drummed that thoroughly into your head.

Anyone who attempts to relate his life loses himself in the immediate. One can only speak of another.

The things that have come into being change continually. The man with a good memory remembers nothing because he forgets nothing.

Forms disappear, words remain, to signify the impossible.

Man is an idiot. He doesn't know how to do anything without copying, without imitating, without plagiarizing, without aping. It might even have been that man invented generation by coitus after seeing the grasshopper copulate.

There were epochs in the history of humanity in which the writer was a sacred person. He wrote the sacred books, universal books, the codes, the epic, the oracles. Sentences inscribed on the walls of the crypts; examples in the portals of the temples. But in those times the writer was not an individual alone; he was the people.

It is not by believing but by doubting that one can attain to the truth, which is ever changing form and condition.