Nature is a word, an allegory, a mold, an embossing, if you will.

You are sitting and smoking; you believe that you are sitting in your pipe, and that your pipe is smoking you; you are exhaling yourself in bluish clouds. You feel just fine in this position, and only one thing gives you worry or concern: how will you ever be able to get out of your pipe?

I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.

We are all born marked for evil.

Even when she walks one would believe that she dances.

What is exhilarating in bad taste is the aristocratic pleasure of giving offense.

However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.