Ideas come as you walk, Nietzsche said. Walking dissipates thoughts, Shankara taught.

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

History proves nothing because it contains everything.

One doesn't live in a country, one lives in a language.

However much I have frequented the mystics, deep down I have always sided with the Devil; unable to equal him in power, I have tried to be worthy of him, at least, in insolence, acrimony, arbitrariness and caprice.

The fear of your own solitude, of its vast surface and its infinity… Remorse is the voice of solitude. And what does this whispering voice say? Everything in us that is not human anymore.

Alone, even doing nothing, you do not waste your time. You do, almost always, in company. No encounter with yourself can be altogether sterile: Something necessarily emerges, even if only the hope of some day meeting yourself again.