A sudden silence in the middle of a conversation suddenly brings us back to essentials: it reveals how dearly we must pay for the invention of speech.

We understand God by everything in ourselves that is fragmentary, incomplete, and inopportune.

To devastate by language, to blow up the word and with it the world.

An aphorism? Fire without flames. Understandable that no one tries to warm himself at it.

The fear of your own solitude, of its vast surface and its infinity… Remorse is the voice of solitude. And what does this whispering voice say? Everything in us that is not human anymore.

Just as ecstasy purifies you of the particular and the contingent, leaving nothing except light and darkness, so insomnia kills off the multiplicity and diversity of the world, leaving you prey to your private obsessions.

We inhabit a language rather than a country.