The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.

To Foreswear vengeance is to chain oneself to forgiveness, to flounder in pardon, to be tainted by the hatred smothered within.

When every man has realized that his birth is a defeat, existence, endurable at last, will seem like the day after a surrender, like the relief and the repose of the conquered.

I do not forgive myself for being born. It is as if creeping into this world, I had profaned a mystery, betrayed some momentous pledge, committed a fault of nameless gravity.

As art sinks into paralysis, artists multiply. This anomaly ceases to be one if we realize that art, on its way to exhaustion, has become both impossible and easy.

Man must vanquish himself, must do himself violence, in order to perform the slightest action untainted by evil.

My mission is to kill time, and time's to kill me in its turn. How comfortable one is among murderers.