Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.

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

The literary man? An indiscreet man, who devaluates his miseries, divulges them, tells them like so many beads: immodesty-the sideshow of second thoughts-is his rule; he offers himself.

Jealousy - that jumble of secret worship and ostensible aversion.

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

A sensation must have fallen very low to deign to turn into an idea.