My mission is to see things as they are. Exactly contrary of a mission.

Insomnia is a vertiginous lucidity that can convert paradise itself into a place of torture.

I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.

Utopia is the grotesque en rose, the need to associate happiness - that is, the improbable - with becoming, and to coerce an optimistic, aerial vision to the point where it rejoins its own source: the very cynicism it sought to combat. In short, a monstrous fantasy.

Everything turns on pain; the rest is accessory, even nonexistent, for we remember only what hurts. Painful sensations being the only real ones, it is virtually useless to experience others.

Speech and silence. We feel safer with a madman who talks than with one who cannot open his mouth.

Democracy: a festival of mediocrity.