Our works, whatever they may be, derive from our incapacity to kill or to kill ourselves.

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.

Beware of thinkers whose minds function only when they are fueled by a quotation.

Each of us is born with a share of purity, predestined to be corrupted by our commerce with mankind, by that sin against solitude.

The more one has suffered, the less one demands. To protest is a sign one has traversed no hell.

Nostalgia, more than anything, gives us the shudder of our own imperfection. This is why with Chopin we feel so little like gods.