The wise man, the sage, is hostile to the new. Disabused, he abdicates: that is his form of protest.

No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one.

As the years pass, the number of those we can communicate with diminishes. When there is no longer anyone to talk to, at last we will be as we were before stooping to a name.

Far from diminishing the appetite for power, suffering exasperates it.

If you lack the power to demoralize yourself along with the age, to go as low and as far, do not complain of being misunderstood by it.

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

A decadent civilization compromises with its disease, cherishes the virus infecting it, loses its self-respect.