Since obscenity is the truth of our passion today, it is the only stuff of art -- or almost the only stuff.

But the effort, the effort! And as the marrow is eaten out of a man's bones and the soul out of his belly, contending with the strange rapacity of savage life, the lower stage of creation, he cannot make the effort any more.

You love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And I should die there smothered.

I do esteem individual liberty above everything.

The mind can assert anything and pretend it has proved it. My beliefs I test on my body, on my intuitional consciousness, and when I get a response there, then I accept.

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

There is a sixth sense, the natural religious sense, the sense of wonder.