Today I had a strange warning. I felt the wind of insanity brush my mind.

Genius is nothing more or less than childhood recovered by will, a childhood how equipped for self-expression with an adult's capacities.

By nature, by necessity itself, [primitive man] is encyclopedic, while civilized man finds himself confined in the infinitely small regions of specialization.

What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?

Where are the dogs going? you people who pay so little attention ask. They are going about their business. And they are very punctilious, without wallets, notes, and without briefcases.

In my mind it strolls, as well as in my apartment. A cat, strong, sweet and delightful.

I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialogue I have with my soul.