On Creating — What we crave, what we want to see in others eyes, is that servile expression, an unconcealed infatuation with our gestures.

Ambition is a drug that makes its addicts potential madmen.

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

Nothing is so wearing as the possession or abuse of liberty.

There was a time when time did not yet exist. … The rejection of birth is nothing but the nostalgia for this time before time.

Each of us must pay for the slightest damage he inflicts upon a universe created for indifference and stagnation, sooner or later, he will regret not having left it intact.

I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.