Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself.

True moral elegance consists in the art of disguising one's victories as defeats.

Consider love: is there a nobler outpouring, a rapture less suspect? Its shudders rival music, compete with the tears of solitude and of ecstasy: sublime...but a sublimity inseperable from the urinary tract: transports bordering upon excretion, a heaven of the glands, sudden sancitity of the orifices. It takes no more than a moment of attention for this intoxication, shaken, to cast you back into the ordures of physiology or a moment of fatigue to recognize that so much ardor produces only a variety of mucous.

Once you see that everything is unreal, you can't see why you should bother to prove it.

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

There was a time when time did not yet exist.

There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.