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.

Great persecutors are recruited among martyrs whose heads haven't been cut off.

Whenever I happen to be in a city of any size, I marvel that riots do not break out everyday: Massacres, unspeakable carnage, a doomsday chaos. How can so many human beings coexist in a space so confined without hating each other to death?

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

He who has never envied the vegetable has missed the human drama.

Every form of talent involves a certain shameless-ness.

Espousing the melancholy of ancient symbols, I would have freed myself.