If we could see ourselves as others see us, we would vanish on the spot.

What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.

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

We define only out of despair, we must have a formula... to give a facade tot he void.

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.

To claim you are more detached, more alien to everything than anyone, and to be merely a fanatic of indifference!

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