No one can keep his griefs in their prime; they use themselves up.

I am the beast with a contorted grin, contracting down to illusion and dilating toward infinity, both growing and dying, delightfully suspended between hope for nothing and despair of everything, brought up among perfumes and poisons, consumed with love and hatred, killed by lights and shadows. My symbol is death of light and the flame of death. Sparks die in me only to be reborn as thunder and lightning. Darkness itself glows in me.

One is and remains a slave as long as one is not cured of hoping.

You are done for - a living dead man - not when you stop loving but stop hating. Hatred preserves: in it, in its chemistry, resides the mystery of life.

No position is so false as having understood and still remaining alive.

Normal people have nothing to forget.

The mind is the result of the torments the flesh undergoes or inflicts upon itself.