It is because we are all impostors that we endure each other. The man who does not consent to lie will see the earth shrink under his feet: we are biologically obliged to the false

True contact between beings is established only by mute presence, by apparent non-communication, by that mysterious and wordless exchange which resembles inward prayer.

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

How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.

Torment, for some men, is a need, an appetite, and an accomplishment.

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.

The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.