My enthusiasms...constitute my reserves, my unexploited resources, perhaps my future.

God: a disease we imagine we are cured of because no one dies of it nowadays.

Life inspires more dread than death - it is life which is the great unknown.

I am the beast with a contorted grin, contracting down to illusion and dilating toward infinity, both growing and dying, delightfully suspended between hope for nothing and despair of everything, brought up among perfumes and poisons, consumed with love and hatred, killed by lights and shadows. My symbol is death of light and the flame of death. Sparks die in me only to be reborn as thunder and lightning. Darkness itself glows in me.

I would like to explode, flow, crumble into dust, and my disintegration would be my masterpiece.

The universal view melts things into a blur.

To write books is to have a certain relation with original sin. For what is a book if not a loss of innocence, an act of aggression, a repetition of our Fall?