Letters couldn't care less whether what is written with them is true or false.

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

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.

Letters couldn't care less whether what is written with them is true or false.

In all nations an exceptional man exists that compensates the deficiencies of the remainder. In those moments, when humanity is found collectively in a state of decadence, there always remain those exceptional beings as point of reference.

To write does not mean to convert the real into words but to make the power of the word real.