To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.

Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.

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

Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.

What do you do from morning to night?" "I endure myself.

No one can do without some semblance of immortality, and even less will they deny themselves the right to seek it out in the form of this or that reputation, starting with the literary... Since death has come to be accepted by all as the absolute end, everyone writes.

Reality is a creation of our excesses.