What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?
We cannot be normal and alive at the same time.
Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.
Democracy: a festival of mediocrity.
The only free mind is one that, pure of all intimacy with beings or objects, plies its own vacuity.
Between Ennui and Ecstasy unwinds our whole experience of time.