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.

How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.

True contact between beings is established only by mute presence, by apparent non-communication, by that mysterious and wordless exchange which resembles inward prayer.

Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.

I seem to myself, among civilized men, an intruder, a troglodyte enamored of decrepitude, plunged into subversive prayers.

We must suffer to the end, to the moment when we stop believing in suffering.

Speech and silence. We feel safer with a madman who talks than with one who cannot open his mouth.