Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.

One doesn't live in a country, one lives in a language.

One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland - and no other.

Reality is a creation of our excesses.

God: a disease we imagine we are cured of because no one dies of it nowadays.

There was a time when time did not yet exist.

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