We die in proportion to the words we fling around us.

Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.

Time is heavy sometimes; imagine how heavy eternity must be.

Thinking should be like musical meditation. Has any philosopher pursued a thought to its limits the way Bach or Beethoven develop and exhaust a musical theme? Even after having read the most profound thinkers, one still feels the need to begin anew. Only music gives definitive answers.

Our first intuitions are the true ones.

Maniacs of Procreation, bipeds with devalued faces, we have lost all appeal for each other.

Normal people have nothing to forget.