If we manage to last in spite of everything, it is because our infirmities are so many and so contradictory that they cancel each other out.

The desire to die was my one and only concern; to it I have sacrificed everything, even death.

Wherever we go, we come up against the human, a repulsive ubiquity before which we fall into stupor and revolt, a perplexity on fire.

Espousing the melancholy of ancient symbols, I would have freed myself.

I seem to myself, among civilized men, an intruder, a troglodyte enamored of decrepitude, plunged into subversive prayers.

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

A regret understood by no one: the regret to be a pessimist. It’s not easy to be on the wrong foot with life.