Utopia is the grotesque en rose, the need to associate happiness - that is, the improbable - with becoming, and to coerce an optimistic, aerial vision to the point where it rejoins its own source: the very cynicism it sought to combat. In short, a monstrous fantasy.

The fanatic is incorruptible: if he kills for an idea, he can just as well get himself killed for one; in either case, tyrant or martyr, he is a monster.

Every word affords me pain. Yet how sweet it would be if I could hear what the flowers have to say about death!

How good would it be if one could die by throwing oneself into an infinite void.

Tyrants are always assassinated too late. That is their great excuse.

Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.

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