Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.

Think of God and not religion, of ecstasy and not mysticism. The difference between the theoretician of faith and the believer is as great as between the psychiatrist and the psychotic.

Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.

I cannot contribute anything to this world because I only have one method: agony.

Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.

We would not be interested in human beings if we did not have the hope of someday meeting someone worse off than ourselves.

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.