He who hates himself is not humble.

My mission is to suffer for all those who suffer without knowing it. I must pay for them, expiate their unconsciousness, their luck to be ignorant of how unhappy they are.

All that shimmers on the surface of the world, all that we call interesting, is the fruit of ignorance and inebriation.

Do I look like someone who has something to do here on earth?' —That's what I'd like to answer the busybodies who inquire into my activities.

A book is a suicide postponed.

Great persecutors are recruited among martyrs whose heads haven't been cut off.

The aphorism is cultivated only by those who have known fear in the midst of words, that fear of collapsing with all the words.