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

Consider love: is there a nobler outpouring, a rapture less suspect? Its shudders rival music, compete with the tears of solitude and of ecstasy: sublime...but a sublimity inseperable from the urinary tract: transports bordering upon excretion, a heaven of the glands, sudden sancitity of the orifices. It takes no more than a moment of attention for this intoxication, shaken, to cast you back into the ordures of physiology or a moment of fatigue to recognize that so much ardor produces only a variety of mucous.

True confessions are written with tears only. But my tears would drown the world, as my inner fire would reduce it to ashes.

The need for novelty is the characteristic of an alienated gorilla.

Society is not a disease, it is a disaster. What a stupid miracle that one can live in it.

What a pity that 'nothingness' has been devalued by an abuse of it made by philosophers unworthy of it!

Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.