After having struggled madly to solve all problems, after having suffered on the heights of despair, in the supreme hour of revelation, you will find that the only answer, the only reality, is silence.

To read is to let someone else work for you - the most delicate form of exploitation.

What is that one crucifixion compared to the daily kind any insomniac endures?

To hope is to contradict the future.

Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself.

The limit of every pain is an even greater pain.

Utopia is the grotesque en rose, the need to associate happiness - that is, the improbable - with becoming, and to coerce an optimistic, aerial vision to the point where it rejoins its own source: the very cynicism it sought to combat. In short, a monstrous fantasy.