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

Wherever we go, we come up against the human, a repulsive ubiquity before which we fall into stupor and revolt, a perplexity on fire.

What can be said, lacks reality. Only what fails to make its way into words exists and counts.

The premonition of madness is complicated by the fear of lucidity in madness, the fear of the moments of return and reunion... One would welcome chaos if one were not afraid of lights in it.

Society is not a disease, it is a disaster. What a stupid miracle that one can live in it.

In a republic, that paradise of debility, the politician is a petty tyrant who obeys the laws.

Everything turns on pain; the rest is accessory, even nonexistent, for we remember only what hurts. Painful sensations being the only real ones, it is virtually useless to experience others.