True moral elegance consists in the art of disguising one's victories as defeats.

To get up in the morning, wash and then wait for some unforeseen variety of dread or depression. I would give the whole universe and all of Shakespeare for a grain of ataraxy.

When you have understood that nothing is, that things do not even deserve the status of appearances, you no longer need to be saved, you are saved, and miserable forever.

Trees are massacred, houses go up — faces, faces everywhere. Man is spreading. Man is the cancer of the earth.

The desire to die was my one and only concern; to it I have sacrificed everything, even death.

Who Rebels? Who rises in arms? Rarely the slave, but almost always the oppressor turned slave.

On Creating — What we crave, what we want to see in others eyes, is that servile expression, an unconcealed infatuation with our gestures.